The Mad Wolf
by FuryBurns
Summary: Twenty years after the War of the Five Kings, Robb is king of Westeros. After learning of a supposed infidelity from his wife, Margaery, Robb banishes her back to Highgarden. He is plagued by a curse, a curse only his loved ones can cure. Now the seven kingdoms are on the verge of another war, the one that could be the last for The Mad Wolf. A story of war, plots, and surprises.
1. The Lonely Rose

**Margaery**

At the top of the white stone walls of Highgarden stood a lady-in-waiting, leaning against the battlements, staring off into the dark city that slept beneath the keep which was very much awake.

The woman had a hand placed on the top of the castle walls, with another atop her extended belly, rubbing gently over the home of her unborn child. She knew which direction she was looking, and envied to tread the path to it again, but she was banished from that place, never to return on pain of death. She wanted to see The North again.

Sure The North was a cold place for a rose such as her, but she had a wolf to warm her at night and care for her during the day. Life used to be so perfect for her, after all, she was the Queen in the North … was … The Queen in the North. Now she was nothing but a lady, the lady Margaery Tyrell of Highgarden.

Astonishingly she was able to retain her beauty throughout the years, however, 36 years isn't many anyway. Mothering after seven children didn't even wither the rose. She retained her healthy curled brown hair, petite and curved figure, as well as her loving, soft, brown eyes.

She could smell the foodstuffs being feasted on in the hall of Highgarden. Plump and juicy animals being torn into by the vicious Northern retainers Margaery had been accompanied by. She turned to observe the three Northmen stuff their faces with their fill of chickens and hams. The laughs and vicious behavior she had grown accustom to while in The North. Her little boys, Eddard, Beron, and William; Little Wildlings they were when it came to eating.

She turned her gaze back to the less lively underground of Highgarden, searching for her little boys and girls running about the streets of Winterfell as they usually did, but of course this wasn't Winterfell and they weren't here.

With a sigh of cold visible breath, she shivered in the cold night and watched her breath dissipate in front of her. Pulling her white furred cloak close to her, sheltering herself and her little-one from the elements. Highgarden used to make her feel so lively and active, but now, she desired the cold, icy North. She wanted to hear her children giggling and playing near the hearth at Winterfell, she wanted to rule as Queen again, but most of all she wanted to be with her Robb again, her king, her husband, her love.

But Robb doesn't love her anymore, he made that clear when he had her banished. He wouldn't listen to reason, instead he let his council whisper in his ear, and then acted on those whispers, mercifully thank the gods.

The sound of armor clattering and foots clomping toward her broke her trance.

Turning around slowly, she was met with a shaggy auburn haired and thick bearded man, guarded in large plates of steel armor, the depiction of a wolf holding a crown in one paw and a greatsword in the other was embedded on his breastplate, with shoulder plates molded to look like a wolfs head. Under all of the armor was a layer of wolf's fur, and under that was a thin layer of leather as a secondary defense.

Margaery smiled at the grizzly man's friendly and familiar face.

"Well-well, I was wondering when the Lord Commander of the Wolf Pack would be joining me this evening," she said with a smile on her face, deceiving of the loss and despair she actually felt.

"I told you, you don't have to call me that Margaery. I'm your friend," the man replied and joined her in leaning against the castle battlements, observing the area with her.

"More like a brother … or even a son … I basically raised you since you were six years old," she said, letting out a hushed laugh.

"I was a handful, wasn't I?" he asked, returning a laugh and smile.

"The only trouble I had was trying to get you to cut your scraggly hair." She reached her hand out to his red beard, tugging on the long hairs that came from his face until he swatted her hand away.

She laughed and watched him roll his eyes in annoyance.

"Robb and I could handle you easily enough. Don't worry though, you weren't near as rambunctious as Olenna and Talinelle, constantly arguing and being at each others throats, it was torture for me."

"Aye," he nodded. "And you've another babe on the way. Do pray that it's a calm one."

After the long talk about family, it finally struck Margaery again, she would never see any of her children again.

"Will we ever get to go back?" she asked, smile fading and eyes looking out to the fields of Highgarden, wanting to pull The North to The Reach's doorstep, so she could only be a walk away from her family.

"There's always hope," the man simply replied, doubt in his voice.

"You can go back any time you want. Robb didn't disown you. Rather, he divorced me."

The man turned his head to look down at the smaller woman, giving a half smile. "Come," he beckoned her with a hand, holding it out for her own. "You haven't eaten much today, and now you're eating for two, the babe needs the energy, as do you."

"I suppose you're right, this wolf has an unsatisfiable appetite … or maybe I'm just getting fat," she giggled and looked up to her guard who bore a strange expression on his face, his eyebrow raised at her stomach. "What?" she asked, looking the man up and down while taking steps away from him.

"You … I don't want this to sound … I don't want it to sound rude, but …." he sputtered out slowly, though she understood what the question was before he even asked.

Her eyes narrowed at him, and a look of disgust took her face. "No," she grumbled out. "This babe is Robb's and mine alone… I've been with only one man before … and now he hates me. I'm not the whore that everyone thinks I am." With that she made a sharp turn, ignoring the man's calls for her to stop, and stormed off into the banquet hall of her brother's.

"Margaery, I didn't mean it like that! I didn't mean anything by it, I promise, it was just a question!" he called out to her, slowly pursuing her into the hall, though they were quickly lost from each other in the large Southron crowd.

_Even Rickon thinks I'm a whore._ Margaery thought as she stormed through the banquet hall.

"What is the matter, good sister?" a female voice came into earshot of Margaery, turning her to see the woman that spoke to her. Talla Tarly, Margaery identified the girl as, her brother Willas' wife and Lady-Paramount of The Reach.

"Oh, I'm quite alright, Talla. I was just heading to my chambers," Margaery said, putting on a smile for appearance's sake, though inside she was near bursting into a fit of rage and a bout tears.

"I just saw you talking with that Northman over there, and wondered if he might have upset you … you know, those Northmen can be monstrous persons … but, I don't have to tell you that. What, with our King in the North banishing you, the mother of his own children, from his holdings … well … that was a clearly tyrannical thing to do," Talla persisted, locking arms with Margaery, and walking away from the merry people of the court to a more private area in the corridors of Highgarden.

"Robb knew not what he was doing … I … I know this sounds crazy, but … I believe he's under some sort of spell … I think someone is making him do all of these evil deeds," Margaery said, walking one arm locked with her sister-in-law, and the other petting her stomach slowly trying to warm and feel for the baby kicking.

"That sounds mad," Talla let a laugh out. "Who would want to poison the King's mind like that? All of his enemies have been destroyed. The Lannisters submit to his will under Lord Tyrion's authority. The Hardyngs are in close relation to him, with his sister's marriage to Harrold. The Baratheons are a shadow of their former glory, with Lord Edric, and Lady Shireen being the lords of the Stormlands and Crownlands. There is no one important or strong enough for him to have angered … except maybe the Tyrells," Talla finished, pursing her lips and looking to the stone vine-covered ceiling above their heads as they walked.

"What do you mean?" Margaery asked, looking her sister up and down with a strange suspicion.

"I mean," she rolled her eyes, as if Margaery was an idiot little girl who didn't understand the workings of court. Margaery detested that, and was learning to detest her with every word she spoke. "When you were banished from the Capital, Willas and I took that as a sign … a sign that the Tyrells' clearly aren't the favored house anymore, a sign that King Robb means to route us all out of our keeps and detach our heads from our bodies, a sign that he needs to be stopped."

Margaery's mouth gaped open, and she stopped in her tracks, letting loose of her sister's arm.

"You mean to revolt against him?"

"Willas does … when the time is right of course. We will need the support of other strong houses, but that should be no problem with the current state he is running the seven kingdoms," Talla said, looking to a door which led to Margaery's dorm.

"And what of my children? What of Willas' nieces and nephews? Will he just let them be hanged by the rebels when Winterfell … well … falls?" Margaery asked with a fire in her voice, a fire that burned the rose petals from her innocent flower-like attitude, turning her into more wolf than flower, more Northmen than Reachmen, more Stark than Tyrell.

"They won't be harmed, of course."

"Easier spoken than committed, my dear," Margaery said with spite in her voice. "Do you really think that my children will just lay down and let you murder their father? Do you really think the wolf pups won't bite back and defend their wolf father?"

"Sister, please, calm down, you're getting loud," Talla begged of her sister-in-law.

"No … no relative of mine would ever dare utter the words you have here tonight. You have no right to call me sister," the rose seemed to growl like a wolf to the archer, Margaery's eyes narrowing with hate and contempt for her bitter relative. "We shall see what Willas has to say about this," Margaery grumbled, turning from Talla and marching off into the banquet hall again.

"You should get some rest first, the babe won't react well to the stress you're putting it through," Talla called out to her, only infuriating Margaery even more.

_What does she care of my children? Only a few seconds ago she was plotting to murder their father, and leave them to die out. Willas will listen to reason, unless she's tainted his mind with her snake-tongue. _Thought Margaery, as she spotted her brother across the hall, sitting with his two sons, Garrett and Hobber, as well as two other lords, Bertram Westbrook, and Russel Ashford. _I can't very well just barge into his conversation with this news … not only would he probably forget most of what I tell him, but he could ignore it entirely. Maybe it is best I just sleep it off until tomorrow … It's not like anything will happen between now and then._ Margaery thought, stopping in her tracks, hesitantly she watched her brother and nephews from afar, wondering if now would be a good time to confront him about his wife's plot to betray Robb.

_Robb or someone needs to learn of this information before it's too late. If not, I fear he'll be in for a war not even he can win._ Margaery let a sigh out, in the middle of the sets of feasting tables, with everyone ignoring her and digging into their foods. No one would notice or care if she had just collapsed to the ground. She was nothing without a crown, without her husband, without her children … and she knew it. She had no friends here, only her family who all had families of their own to look after, with the exception of Loras and Rickon.

"Do you need escort to your chambers, my lady?" came the voice of a Northman, Donnel Ryswell, a member of the Wolf Pack and nephew to the lord Ryswell of The Rills in The North.

He smiled down at her with his handsome features, he had a strong jaw upon which grew a stubble of black hair. He trimmed his hair in such a fashion that the sides were shaved off and only a patch was left on the top. But what drew Margaery's eyes to him the most were his own. They were gray and powerful eyes, eyes that lingered their gaze for a while around her neckline—too long a while it seemed.

"See something interesting?" she asked with a seemingly inviting smile, noticing he was now staring lower at her chest and larger-than-normal breasts.

"A couple somethings," he said and smiled back.

"Would those couple somethings happen to be my face … and the bump on my stomach?" she asked with a sharper smile now, watching his slowly fade her own smile grew. "The bump that contains the child of your king?" she gave a threat, but it was mostly just a warning or rather a joke.

His pupils nervously bounced around the walls of his eyes, awkwardly searching the room for something less intimidating than Margaery.

Margaery smirked, knowing how foolish he must feel now, having his advances on her stomped down in only a few words.

"Come, you can walk me to my dorm," she said, turning around to another corridor and beginning to walk with him to her bedchambers.

When she turned, she noticed Rickon standing in his steel shining armor, arms crossed and eyebrows raised at her.

Margaery turned around to see the knight by her side, smiling down at her. She cleared her voice before speaking, "I think I can actually find my room on my own, thank you," she said hastily, only now seeing why some might have seen her as a lustful woman.

_I like to flirt and joke around a bit, but I'd never go further than that. What does Rickon want me to do, swear off talking to any man besides my husband? That's impossible. Besides, Ryswell knew I was only joking with him, and I'm sure he meant nothing by staring at me._ She thought, nodding to Rickon with a smile that said 'shut up.'

Rickon smiled at her, and watched her leave the room to her own.

* * *

><p><strong>Eddard<strong>

Eddard Stark, heir to The North and the entirety of Westeros, known as 'The Great Wolf', and one of—if not—the greatest living fighters in Westeros, stood in a near empty hall of Winterfell with his sibling, William, waiting for the court to arrive so a meeting could be held on current events.

The Great Hall of Winterfell had expanded much since the tax of the entire kingdom was now coming to the Stark coffers, in turn making the castle a grand one to serve as the capital. Banners of the Stark direwolf were strewn across the rafters. Grand windows of clear and shining glass were built into the sides of the hall by the scores, with pillars to match them and a white carpet leading to the King's Throne to act as a walkway. Candles placed into the pillars numbered the hundreds as they spiraled all the way to the top of the arched ceiling, illuminating every square inch of the Northern keep. But the most grand piece of work in the entire room, was the throne itself.

Eddard turned to admire it after scanning the room, noticing it's shining black surface, and symmetrical pointed sides, with five tall spires on each side of the throne's backing. It was sizable enough for a single person, and only meant to comfort a Stark's bottom, especially the King's. Its make was of course of the marvelous jewel like stone, Dragonglass.

Once Robb had learned of it's use to kill The Others, he immediately took to Dragonstone, the largest source of the stone, and made use of it's abundance. From there he made swords plentiful enough that the Dragonglass deposits on Dragonstone were near empty, making the desolate island even more worthless than before, and now it acts as the home of Shireen Baratheon, and seat to the Crownlands.

After the massacre of the The Others, Robb had most of the jewel-like stones reconstructed into the throne he now sits upon today, as well as using pieces to fill the nine spikes on his crown to a fine thickness, so now the tips beamed an array of purple anywhere in sunlight.

Eddard smiled for only a second, before seeing the sad sight that rest in a cage behind the throne.

Greywind, Robb's famed and humongous direwolf had been kept in the cage for some time, by order of Robb himself … or so most would say. Rather, Eddard knew that someone had persuaded Robb to encase his beloved creature, though the person or persons remains unknown to Eddard. The beast was to the point that it nearly squeezed against the sides of the cage, it was so large and the box so small. Eddard didn't dare defy his father and release the thing, rather, he'd wait for the right time to persuade his father to release his old friend, but that time was not now. All Eddard could do now was listen to the wolfs cries, and still his tongue until his father was in a better mood.

"Ed come look, I made a snowball!" Eddard's little brother, William bade him to his side, waving him over to the window where he played in the snow fallen from the large open port.

Eddard smiled, and walked his way to his little brother, hand held comfortably on his sheathed sword as he approached.

"You should close the window, William. It's getting cold," Eddard suggested, rubbing his hands against the leather Northmen garb he wore, traditional to a Northmen soldier, but with bolts of fur around the neck and arm holes.

"Fine, but first I wanna show you how pretty this looks … look at it!" he yelled, standing up and pointing his finger at the ball he had constructed on the window's edge.

Eddard scratched his hand across his clean-shaven face, nodding at the creation of his brother. "I'm looking," Eddard replied and gave a laugh.

The little ball of snow shined with sparkles of purple, yellow, and red, as if some sort of magic dust had been sprinkled over it, or some small shavings of jewels had found their way to the sphere.

"Very pretty, Will," their grandmother interceded, ruffling William's light-brown hair with her hand, hair of Margaery's color and texture, hair that all of the Stark children shared, with the exception of Beron and Olenna, who had the auburn Tully-Stark hair.

"Grandmother," Eddard said with a smile to his father Robb's mother.

"Eddard," she said with a small smile, a twinkle of a tear in her eye.

Eddard knew the stories of how the tyrannical king of Westeros, Joffrey Baratheon, had taken his grandfather captive and later beheaded him, being the cause for his father Robb's war against the south, and he knew how much it hurt his grandmother, Catelyn, just to say the name. She had gotten better with it though, maybe it was the striking resemblance in features to his father and grandfather that had her tearing up most of the time.

"Have you any idea of the whereabouts of your brother Beron?" Catelyn asked her grandson.

"Apparently he's still at The Wall, delivering … er … volunteers to The Night's Watch, as well as taking time to speak to the Lord Commander."

Catelyn didn't reply with any words to that statement, instead she closed her eyes as if she was hurt, or just wanted to fall asleep. Eddard assumed it was at the mentioning of his half-uncle Jon, the bastard offspring of his grandfather Eddard and another woman. Catelyn had hated that boy, and thought The Night's Watch would deal with him like the old and new gods couldn't, but alas, the gods and Watch instead decided to make him the leader of it all … such an irony.

"How are your sisters?" Catelyn asked next, changing topic quickly before she dwelt on the bastard for too long.

"Lina, Olenna, and Talinelle are with Septa Elyn," Eddard replied.

"And Alina? Where is she?" Catelyn persisted.

"I recall her saying something near the sorts of, I'm going on an adventure." Eddard nodded and smiled affirmatively.

"She's been spending too much time with Arya," Catelyn said in a half-distressed, half-joking tone.

"I'm sure she'll be back soon. I told her not to leave Winterfell's grounds, and she said she wouldn't."

"You believed her?" Catelyn said, narrowing her eyes at her grandson.

"What was I to do, stop her? You know how she gets."

"I suppose you're right," Catelyn finished, looking around the large hall now for any sign of any other person.

"Okay, now that you're both done ignoring me and having your own conversation, can I go make a snow fort?" William asked with a questioning look on his face, looking up to his elders.

Catelyn and Eddard gave a few laughs at the young boy, and patted him on each shoulder.

"So …." he continued.

"Sure, go have your fun," Eddard commanded of him, gently shoving him in the right direction.

"Such a big family," Catelyn noted with a smile as she watched William waddle away to the outside sect of Winterfell's keep. Brushing strands of gray hair from her face, she turned to look back at Eddard.

"Would have been an even bigger family," he said with solace for his mother.

Catelyn smiled a loving look to her grandson. "She will be back, Eddard. That I am sure of. Robb's just going through a fit at the moment, soon, when the time is right, we will show him the error of his ways and he'll love her again, and welcome her back like nothing ever happened."

"I hope you're right." Eddard turned his attention to an opening door, through which the sun poured in, as well as a troop of persons, one of which was his father, Robb.

Robb walked in, with the cane that he had recently come to know, four of his Wolf Pack guarding him in four points of a square around him, hands on their swords and ready to act against any enemies of his. With them, the court had come, and all of Winterfell's minor nobles.

The only sound that seemed to echo from the group was that of Robb's cane, the Dragonglass staff stamping it's blackened end onto the cold stone floor as he slowly approached his throne. He had a frown on his face, eyes pinched tight together as he sneered at the crowd around him, strands of his scraggly graying-auburn hair messily positioned over his eyes, his cold almost evil eyes surveyed the room, eyes that could pierce your skin quicker than steel. He lifted a hand, the one not occupied with the cane, using it to rub at the Dragonglass jewel necklace he had. The necklace was simple, a single oval shaped chunk of black glass centered on his chest, though it glowed from the inside. A beautiful shining of purple, blue, and shades of green fought each other inside the gem. One of Robb's most prized possessions, topping that of Ice, his ancestral sword of which he couldn't hold anymore, due to his weakness and it's great weight.

"All hail his grace, King Robb of Westeros, first of his name, the king of the andals, the rhoynar, and the first men, and the protector of the realm!" announced with a low booming voice, one of Robb's Wolf Pack members, one of the most senior members, and the one who bore the most scars. He had a scorched and frightening face, with a missing ear you could barely notice behind the black hair he had brushed over it.

The four warriors that accompanied Robb stopped and spread out an equal distance from each other in front of his throne. Hallis Mollen and Brienne Tarth stood left of the throne, with Sandor Clegane and Jory Woods to the right. Four of the nine members to Robb's guard, nine members to represent the nine spikes on his crown.

Robb slowly ascended the few steps to his throne, turning and planting himself in the seat, and resting his cane in his lap as he waited.

The court quieted themselves, holding upon the King's first words and decrees.

Catelyn and Eddard shared a look of sadness, both could see the state that Robb was in, and knew he probably wouldn't be around for much longer at the rate he was aging and weakening. He was starting to look as old as Catelyn, and was near as feeble as William.

A second female came to join the duo of Eddard and his grandmother. "Morning, my lord," she greeted in a hushed voice, turning Eddard around with her coming.

"Marissa, hello," Eddard said with a smile, wrapping his arm around her waist, and using another hand to rub her belly. "Bump's getting bigger." He smiled.

"Aye, it is," she said with her mousy voice. "Soon you'll be a great-grandmother," Marissa said, leaning around to view Catelyn.

"And here I was, not feeling a day over thirty," Catelyn said with a smile.

Robb's coughing bout brought them back to their liege, watching him cover his mouth with a hand as he mercilessly attacked it with a raspy cough.

A few members of the court hung their head in either shame or a manner of mourning for their king.

After what felt like a minute of cold coughs, Robb finally worked up the strength to speak.

"What news have we … on the state of … our treasury?" he asked slowly in between long wheezing breaths.

"Your Grace," a small, dwarfed, blond haired man started, stepping forward from the crowd. "the treasury is overflowing with Dires, we have never had so much gold before."

"Hmm … about the greatest achievement of mine … making a Lannister the master of coin," Robb mumbled out, waving Lord Tyrion away with a hand.

"There's another matter, aside from the great deeds you have completed on your reign as king … you must have a … a queen," another person stuttered out, being careful to choose his words.

Eddard looked to see the person, identifying him as Lord Ramsey Bolton, by the features of his snake-like stance, and rat-looking face. _Skeevy bastard, stay away from my father._ Eddard kept the words in his head, knowing how his father seemed to care for the Bolton bastard Lord.

"But surely you must be thinking, who would be so great a woman as to be my companion and queen, well let me tell you, I have taken the liberty of finding all of the noble ladies of the realm, fit for your hand in marriage. Here is the list, your Grace." Lord Bolton stepped forward, moving to Robb's guards, who stopped him with four outstretched hands, and four hands ready on their swords.

Robb waved them off and grunted, telling them to let him pass.

The guards sneered at the man, and stepped aside as the king ordered.

The pink Bolton-clothed and armored man, Ramsey, knelt before Robb, holding out a piece of parchment for him to read, quite a lengthy piece of parchment at that.

The King looked down to the paper, hands twitching as they reached out for it, not grasping it as of yet.

With doubt in his eyes, he returned his hand to his lap, and dismissed the Lord Bolton, of whom looked shocked.

"I would like to have … my chambers to myself now … you're all dismissed," Robb commanded of them, and Eddard knew exactly why he couldn't take the paper. He still had love for Margaery in his heart, no matter how much the news of her infidelity had hurt him, he loved her.

Ramsey stumbled backward, losing his confidence now, Eddard looked to him, and he looked back. With a smug and all-knowing smile, Eddard crossed his arms to the Lord, and watched him retreat with the others outside of the hall.

"I said … you're all dismissed," Robb restated, looking to his son, mother, and daughter-in-law.

With that renewed statement, Ramsey gave his smug and all-knowing smile to Eddard this time, and laughed his way out of the hall.

Eddard, Catelyn, and Marissa Glover all gave frowns to the floor, and trudged their way out of the King's presence.

Eddard was the last to leave, but before he did so, he gave one final glance to his father. He saw Robb shakily lifting the black jeweled necklace in his hands, examining and petting the shining surface with a sad face. Greywind moaned a wolf's cry behind Robb, his head down and humbled, waiting for the ability to prowl the castle as he once did. Before the doors closed, Robb looked up to his son from afar, glaring at him as if he didn't even know he was his own blood. With that last look from his father, the large doors of Winterfell's halls closed in front of him, with only two wolves to occupy the inside now, two sad, weak, and lonely wolves.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: this is my first story, so, all help is appreciated. Tell me if you like it, don't like it, what you like, and what you don't like, as well as if you'd like to see more and if you think I could better my writing somehow. It's going to be a plots/battles fic, so lots of twists and turns if you're into that stuff. Of course there'll also be some lovey-dovey scenes here and there, flashbacks for MargxRobb, and other pairings that you'll probably like. **Thanks for reading.****


	2. The Game Has Changed

**Margaery**

Margaery had all of a sudden found herself in a strange place; a place where a mist clouded her vision, where the gray walls made her feel imprisoned, and where a certain smell of slimy fish crawled through the room.

The place looked familiar to her. She recognized the look of the cracked stones, the feel of the warm bedding, and the smell of a watery dew in the air. She was at Riverrun.

Before her stood a kind man, and acquaintance to her—Lord Edmure Tully of the Riverlands. He paced the span of the foot of her bed, hands running through his long Tully hair, similar to Rickon's hair, only Edmure's was graying with his age.

A woman was beside Margaery, a grip on her hand that bore both love and nervousness. The woman she thought resembled Edmure's wife, Roslin Frey, though she looked slightly aged since last Margaery had seen her.

"You're almost there, my lady. The babe's almost there," Roslin comforted, rubbing a hand gently over Margaery's sweating forehead.

Margaery had looked to the bottom of her bed, where a stain of crimson liquid splotched the white sheets she was covered in.

Edmure started to mumble prayers as he paced the stone floor around the bed, "Father, Mother, Warrior, Crone, Smith, Maid, Stranger, save this woman and her child … I cannot think to what the king will do if his beloved dies here in her pregnancy, and his child … he would have my head, that is, when he regains his own."

"Shut it!" Roslin yelled to her husband, and lord-paramount of the Riverlands, at which Edmure's face turned in shock, "if you're not going to be of any use then get out."

"Yes, of course, sorry," Edmure stuttered out, scrambling for the door and slamming it behind him.

"Have no fear, Margaery," Roslin began, "Our dear septa will make sure to keep both you and your babe alive and well through this hard time. Speaking of the old bat, where is she?" Roslin asked, bending her head around the room to find the expert on birthing.

Margaery felt a shooting pain in her stomach, a tightening and constricting around her pelvis, as if the wolf inside her were biting its way out. Sweat covered her body and stained her fine white dress. Her free hand dug into the sheets of the bed, clawing it and shredding it with her nails at the pain she felt. With all of that she let out a deafening scream, tears mixing and hiding with the sweat and pain on her face.

"Dammit! Where is Jeyne!" Roslin yelled to no one in particular.

From the balcony in front of Margaery's bed a blackened figure stood, a line of red drew across the neck, bleeding to the floor.

"Jeyne?" Roslin asked the figure.

Its response was to crumble to the floor, flopping forward to the stones in a pool or red. Behind where the figure had stood was a four legged and antlered creature. Puffs of blackened smoke exited it's snout and paired up with the black smoke around it. It's eyes as red as rubies, and hair a brown-orange. It lazily mushed it's slimy teeth together, blood seeping from the cracks in between each tooth.

A terrible screeching sound came from the moose, high-pitched and louder than Margaery's birthing cry. It approached slowly, twisting its head around, swaying it's thick, flat antlers around menacingly.

Roslin stood with a knife in her hand, pointed at the monstrous animal. "Stay away from her, you bastard!"

The moose didn't take kindly to the insult, its brow sunk on it's red eyes, narrowing its sight to the lady-paramount and charging.

She fell back unconscious, knife knocked from her hand and body discarded to a corner of the room.

_Roslin, no._ Margaery thought, then realizing she was the last line of defense for herself and her babe against this monster. There were no weapons in her vicinity, no people near to help, and no way she could move with the baby coming.

All she could do was scream, to release the pain she felt growing in her stomach, and to warn any nearby guards. She sent a wail from her lungs that would alert all of Westeros if her voice should flow through the rivers of the Riverlands, echo through the mountains of the Vale, or linger in the plains of the Reach.

The animal enclosed on her, clomping it's large, square teeth at her face. A hint of a devilish smile played on the beasts black lips, being the last thing Margaery saw before the darkness took her in a faint.

* * *

><p>With a gasp and in a broken sweat she rose, jolting up in her bedroom chambers, wrapped up in white sheets with a sizable bulge on her stomach. <em>My babe's okay … it was just a dream … thank the seven.<em> She thought, palming her forehead of the sweat and anxiousness she felt. _It was just a dream, nothing more. My babe is fine, and I won't let any devil-moose change that._

Her throat was as dry as the sands of Dorne, and her skin burning warmer than every hearth in Winterfell. _Perhaps I've taken a fever._ She thought, kicking her bed-sheets off and wandering into another room in her chambers, where a bath awaited her in the center of a small dim lighted room, the water cool and ready for use.

She slipped her gown off, kicking it to the floor, and entered the water, being careful for her babe and slowly squatting down into the cool liquid before she relaxed.

She smiled with contentment, observing the few windows in the small room, covered by yellow curtains pinned with roses and leaf petals. Cupping a pool of water in her palms she rose it to her head, pouring the contents of liquid into her hair and ringing it out with her hands, getting the fresh, brown locks clean and smelling new. She closed her eyes and let the sun beat through the curtains and into her skin, filling her with a natural warmth. Slowly she started to feel better, her sweat was gone, and her throat felt fine.

_Good, not even a fever._ She thought with a smile, rubbing her hands at her stomach, wondering to herself if the babe that grew in her was male or female.

After a few minutes of soaking in the bath, Margaery was ready to start her day, and finally confront her brother about this supposed plot against the king.

Stepping out of the polished wooden tub, Margaery walked, dripping and naked into her main bedroom, padding off her body with a towel along the way, and finding her dresser filled with all of her many clothing choices.

She chose from the neatly folded and compiled drawer of dresses, a green cloth dress, with swirls of white and yellow, with enough belly room to fit her and her babe into. She held it in front of herself, looking into a full body mirror in front of her, getting a view of how she could look in it.

A knock came at the door while she was admiring the dress, immediately opening after the knock.

"Excuse me," Margaery spoke up to the person entering her dorm.

She noticed the same man she had talked with the night earlier, the Ryswell guard to Robb. "Oh, I'm sorry, my lady. I had not thought you would be changing," he said, cocking his head to the right to keep her out of sight, though his eyes lingered, and she noticed.

"What is it you want?" she asked, pulling the dress to cover her body from him, though he had gotten a full view of her upon entering. "Speak up now, I haven't got all day."

"Lord Willas was requesting to speak with you, my lady," he said.

"Oh, good, I wanted to speak with him as well." Margaery stared at him for a while, and he at her, though she was wondering if he would leave her to her privacy, instead he looked her up and down with a sly smile on his young face.

A new pair of feet could be heard clomping through the hall, and coming to a stop by the door. Margaery noticed her former brother-in-law, Rickon, and leader to the Wolf Pack.

He turned his head into the room, seeing an uncomfortable Margaery, and his warrior who was halfway into the door and staring longingly at her. "You dolt!" Rickon burst out in a yell, smacking the man in the back of the head. "She's changing, get the hell out of her before I break my foot off in your arse!"

The warrior looked up to his commander and fled with haste, jogging out of the room and down the hall, with Rickon glaring intensely at his back.

"You wanna look at something naked?" Rickon yelled in question to the fleeing man. "Well, I think Brandon Cerwyn's taking a bath in his chambers, you could try there!" Rickon yelled, giving a hearty laugh afterward.

"Thank you, Rickon," Margaery said with a friendly smile.

"Anytime, my queen." He nodded. "I will await you outside, we can walk together to meet with your brother."

Margaery nodded to her friend, and waited for him to close the door before she began to dress.

* * *

><p><strong>Jon<strong>

Jon stood at the top of Castle Black's gatehouse, hands clasped firmly behind his back, with his wolf Ghost by his side, staring with red eyes out into the dark forest from which a patrol was supposed to come. _Come on, Beron, you're a day late already, please be alright._ Jon thought, praying his half-nephew had survived the journey to the Wall with his guard of soldiers. _Come on._

"What is it you're waiting for?" a woman asked, her slender form appearing beside Jon and his trusted pet.

Jon smiled at her. "Have I ever told you how good you look in black?" Jon asked, observing the tight black leather she wore around her body, with belts of gray and brown wrapping around her waist in two different angles. She wore a thin fur coat around her tight, shinning leather, that covered her unprotected arms and neck.

"Only every time we see each other, and when I'm wearing it that is," she hinted at with a smile.

"You better keep it quiet with that, wouldn't want the rest of this lot catching onto us," Jon said, looking around and down to the base of the Castle where soldiers trained with Jorah Mormont, the Castle's master-at-arms.

She stepped closer to her lover, resting her hands on his strong muscled shoulders, and leaning her white haired head against his. "I think Jorah already knows … he gawks at you when you're not looking … I've seen him. It saddens me, since he's always been such a good friend and protector to me."

Jon squinted his eyes to her. "Why does he gawk? Does he have feelings for you?"

"I always thought he might, but … I think it might be that as well as him not agreeing with some of your decisions as the lord-commander."

"If that were true then he would make those opinions public, at our meetings, when we decide new laws for the Wall … but instead he keeps his mouth shut. I think he's just jealous, but, who can blame him? You are perfect in every way after all," Jon said, turning to his lover, and placing a kiss on her lips, one she returned with a melting embrace. She petted at his head with her hands, caressing his face as he did hers, both of their bodies becoming speckled with flakes of snow fallen from the sky as they stood still in loving arms.

Dany broke the kiss for a breath of air and a laugh. "Well it's not going to be hidden for much longer if you act like that."

"I've been meaning to tell you. I've … I've been thinking I can get the law that brothers-of-the-black can't have wives repealed, then we can both be together, legally," he said with a kiddish smile, lowering his hands to her shoulders, watching for her facial expression to change.

She gave him a wide smile, and pushed her head against his chest, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. "What will the case be, what's the point to repealing it, it'll need to be strong to repeal such an old law?" she asked, pulling away from him to gaze at his face.

"You'll see at the meeting, when I give my speech, and the brothers will vote … then, then we can be together."

Daenerys giggled quietly and gave that same seductive smile that he loved so much. "Well, we've already been together, so not much should change."

"We could get married," Jon proposed with a raised brow, staring into her large violet eyes, from which water started to flood.

She smiled at that. "I think I'd like that," she said with teary eyes, tears of happiness, happy that everything was finally turning out okay for her and her beloved.

"Good," Jon simply replied, and turned with the sound of approaching horse's hooves trudging through the snowy ground to Castle Black.

"Your nephew?" Dany asked, looking over the gates to the forthcoming party of horsemen.

"It would seem so," Jon replied, "come, we should greet him." Jon turned with his lover, marching down the stairs to the gate's door, with other watchmen closing in to see the Northmen on the other side of the gate.

When Jon and Dany arrived at the cold steel barred gate, they saw on the other side a troop of fifty men-at-arms, all mounted and waiting to enter.

"Beron Stark!" Jon called out to the group, waiting for his nephew to emerge.

"Uncle!" a shout answered, and a man appeared at the front of the patrol, on a strong destrier horse, armored with plates of silver-coated steel.

Beron was only seventeen, but looked older than his eldest brother, Eddard. He had fat cheeks, from which a short tuft of hair grew as his beard and covered his jaw-line. He looked down to Jon through the gates, with powerful bright blue eyes, the eyes of his father. He also shared his father's hair, and overall facial features, with the exception of his fat cheeks.

"Will you not allow us inside to warm near your hearth? Are you still mad that I beat you last time in that game of cyvasse?" Beron mocked with a smile, looking back to his troop of soldiers who smiled.

"You cheated … and you know it," Jon returned with a cunning smile and raised brow.

"Oh, alright, you got me. Now let us in, we're freezing out here," Beron demanded with a laugh, pointing to the lever that raised the gate.

Jon turned to see a watchman standing by the lever, waiting on Jon's orders. Jon gave him a nod, and he drew the lever down, and let the gate rise.

Jon and his brothers moved to the side, allowing a wide berth for the horses to enter, and parade to their pens, where they would be tied at for the majority of their stay.

Jon, along with Dany and Ghost, made their way over to Beron and his troop of Northmen.

"Where are the prisoners?" Jon asked, coming to a stop near Beron, and wondering where his new recruits had gone off to.

"Well … a few of them killed each other arguing over a scrap of food on the journey here, so all we were left with were ten." Beron pointed to the ten men in question, being led away by his soldier to a area of the castle.

"They'll have to do," Dany spoke up, looking at the new recruits as they left their field of view.

"Well, well … who might this fine Valyrian lady be?" Beron asked, smiling at Daenerys and holding a hand out for her to shake.

"This is-" Jon started.

But was cut off by Dany herself. "I'm Daenerys Targaryen, the last of my house."

With the mentioning of her name, Beron's eyes widened, and his lip twitched. "You're … you're the mother of dragons … breaker of chains … _the_ Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen."

"I was those things," Dany said with a hint of sadness in her voice, "but now I'm just Dany, and a sister of the watch."

Beron looked strangely to Jon and then back to Dany, noticing their closeness in position. "I have a feeling you're a little more than a sister to the watch," Beron said with a knowing smile.

Jon and Dany took several steps apart at his mentioning of their affair—if you could call it that.

_I really need to make it less obvious, lest the watch take my love for her as a weakness to them._ Jon thought, and smiled to Beron. "Come, Beron, we've prepared some food for you and your patrol. You must be hungry from the long journey," Jon said, wrapping his arm around the young man's back, leading him up the stairs of Castle Black's keep and into their warm mess hall.

Jon patted a spot on a table as he took a seat, allowing Beron to take his own seat, and Dany to take a seat beside Beron, making sure this time to keep her distance from Jon.

"I promised you that when I saw you again, I'd tell you some of my past," Jon said to Beron, who nodded vigorously. "And I suppose you'll want to hear some of Dany's as well?"

"But of course, if it's not too much trouble. My life isn't interesting in the slightest, so I might as well as feed off of your great accomplishments to fuel my lust for adventure," Beron said and chuckled.

"Very well," Jon began, looking off to the hearth in the distance that crackled fire, twigs of wood breaking and burning inside with the hot coals. Jon noticed Dany blankly staring into the fire with him, though she seemed saddened by it, for which reason Jon did not know. "What is it you want to know?"

Beron shrugged and clapped his hands together on the table. "Well, there's a lot … but I suppose I'd like to know most of all, what your part was in the battle of King's Landing?"

"Well that's a short story then, because I was here at Castle Black for that entire time," Jon replied.

"You didn't leave to help your brother in the war?" Beron asked, jerking his head back in shock and misunderstanding.

"We're not supposed to. Brothers of the Watch are sworn to the Wall, leaving to help Robb would be breaking my vows. I wanted to leave when I heard of my father's imprisoning, and later his death, but I never did."

Beron turned his head around each shoulder, scanning the empty room for other persons who could hear. "What's the harm in breaking one more vow? Huh?" he questioned, looking from Jon to Daenerys.

Daenerys sneered at him for a second, while Jon simply hung his head in shame. It was true, Jon regularly 'broke' his vows of celibacy with Dany, though some would argue he didn't break any vow, since all the vow states is to never father children, which Dany can't. Daenerys sensed Jon's sadness at this, and was the reasoning for her glare at Beron.

"Very well, could we hear your part in the battle then, my lady?" Beron asked, looking to Dany. "I heard you burnt the entire city to the ground with your dragons, leaving only blackened remains of the red stone and persons who lived there."

Dany ignored what he said, sitting up from the bench where she sat next to him, and stormed out of the room with Ghost following her and looking back to Beron with a growl.

"Damn, what's her problem?" Beron turned to ask Jon, who simply shook his head.

"She regrets it ... killing those people at King's Landing ... don't bring it up again, I beg you."

Beron nodded with a meaningful smile. "I'm sorry, tell her I'm sorry as well, I meant nothing by it."

Jon nodded as well. "Very well, but enough of me, I'd like to know about you, and my brother … I hear talk that he's changed … that he's evil. Is it true?" Jon asked, leaning closer to Beron, who sighed.

"My father isn't what he used to be, no. Though he's still our king, and I should warn you that I am the leader of Winterfell's guard, sworn to bring any knowledge of plots to the king himself and hand out justice at the point of a sword." Beron patted at his Winterfell armor, standard brown leather and steel plate to the captain of Winterfell. _It sounds as if he gets this sort of question often._ Jon thought quickly and then reacted audibly.

"What!" Jon yelled out in surprise and offense. "You think I would betray my own brother?"

"Simply a warning, uncle, nothing more," Beron said, kicking back in his bench, smelling a band of food coming his way, he pointed his nose to the door that led to the kitchen.

"Very well, let us eat and act as though this conversation never occurred," Jon suggested with regret at even bringing it up, watching the kitchen door open and several men in white aprons come out with trays of food in their palms.

"Good idea," Beron said, his mouth watering at the sight of the plump, juicy chickens, goblets of Northern mead, and large squares of lemon cakes.

The cooks set the plates in front of the two Starks, or rather the full-Stark and half-Stark. They dispersed quickly upon dropping the plates for their lords.

A strange smell of the food slithered into Jon's nose, a smell he knew wasn't supposed to belong to food such as these dishes.

"Well, dig in," Beron said, lifting a fork in his hands and stabbing it at a corner of the lemon cake, lifting it to his watering mouth, saliva dripping from the hole.

"Wait!" Jon yelled, shooting his hand forward to Beron's, grasping the handle of the fork with him, keeping it from touching his mouth.

"What in the seven hells do you think you're doing?" Beron asked in an elevated voice.

Jon pried the food from his nephew's hands, stood from the table, and made his way to a window where a crow was perched, pecking at stray pieces of bread on the cold snow covered stone.

Jon flaunted the tempting golden piece of cake to the bird, who took notice quickly and started edging it's way to the lord-commander. "Eat up, little guy," Jon said to the bird, which took the food in its beak quickly, snapping it down its gullet and flapping away from Jon once it had eaten what it wanted.

Jon leaned on the edge of the window, watching the crow fly off to the other side of Castle Black's walls.

"Now that you're done feeding the animals, can we eat?" Beron spoke up, though Jon ignored.

_I thought …._ Jon watched the bird fly off over the wall, noticing no change in it's behavior or flight patterns. _I guess I was wrong._

As Jon turned his head halfway to see Beron, he noticed the bird drop from his sight, darting his eyes back to the bird's location in the air, he saw it flutter to the ground and smack against the stones of Castle Black's walls. _I knew it! _Jon thought, looking down to his fellow brothers in the base of Castle Black.

"Brothers!" he called out to them, "brothers! Find the cooks! They've tried to poison us! Find them, and lock them up!" he yelled, watching the men-in-black rush around the snowy stones of Castle Black, leaving large gaps in their footprints as the sprinted to different dorms in the castle, swords drawn and looking for the cooks who had plotted to kill Robb Stark's second son, and his half-brother, Jon.

"What!" Beron yelled out, smacking the food on the table from his sight. "What monster would taint such a scrumptious treat?" he barked out in outrage.

"Beron, they tried to kill you," Jon reiterated.

"Aye, they did, but the real crime here is that I'll never be able to eat another lemon cake again without checking if it's poisoned or not."

Jon rolled his eyes at Beron and smiled, marching off and out the door with his nephew by his side, their hands readied on their swords, searching with his fellow brothers for who the culprit was behind the attempt on their lives.

* * *

><p><strong>Margaery<strong>

She was sitting beside two of her closest friends and family members, Rickon, her beloved former brother-in-law, and her brother Loras, who was—like Rickon—also a member of the Wolf Pack, by request of Margaery herself when Robb had needed a ninth member to his guard. They sat in three white cushioned chairs, with golden colored metalwork and cloth of green weaved into the cushion of the chairs, while they faced the lord-paramount of the Reach, Willas Tyrell.

"Brother, I beg of you not to do this," Margaery started, "Robb is a good man still, I know it, he would never harm me or my family."

"Sister," Willas near condescendingly started, to mock her use of 'brother,' "you were our only connection to the king, and now that he has severed our alliance, he _will _look for another, and I cannot just stand by and hope he doesn't take action against us."

"But he won't, I swear it," she pleaded.

"Tread lightly my sister, and do not make false promises … for if anything should happen to my children, or my wife by Robb Stark's hands, I would never forgive you or myself for it," Willas replied.

"Willas," Loras addressed his brother, "our sister loves him. Now I know she might have a bias for him, and I might have one against him for what he's done to her and her unborn babe, but I am of the opinion—along with Margaery and Rickon—that there is a conspiracy against Robb. I believe he is being forced to do the things he does."

"I agree," Rickon began, "you should see what he looks like, he's aged tremendously, and can hardly hold himself up without the use of his cane. Not to mention his immediate change from kindness to cruelty … that's not the brother I knew."

"If ..." Willas sighed, "If I allow you a years time to … to change him to his former state, do you believe you can do it?" he said, looking to the three persons that sat on the other side of his dark wooded and flower decorated desk.

"I know I can," Margaery said with confidence and a smile.

"I'm going against my better judgment here, Margaery," he cautioned his sister, "don't make me regret it."

A feeling of success came over Margaery, though she held it in, and gave a simple nod to her brother. "Thank you, Willas, you won't regret it, I promise."

"Very well, lets eat then, seal the deal with food," Willas said with a friendly smile, looking at each of his companions.

He raised his hands and clapped at a servant who stood near the back of the room. The boy, probably under eighteen, came walking over to the four people, handing out plates and moving to a corner of the room where food sat.

"Remember, Margaery … one year, and then my kindness will wear out," he cautioned again with stern eyes.

Margaery nodded, and watched the servant boy place a plate of strawberry pie down on Willas' plate.

Willas scratched at his brown beard before deciding to feast. "Thank you, Denys," Willas said and nodded to his servant, a Hightower boy, the great-grandson of Leyton 'the old' who was still very much old, and very much living, locked up in the highest sect of his tower.

The boy hurried to display the other pies onto the other three plates, and stand at the back of the room where he had stood earlier, a nervous look on his face.

With a full face of strawberry, Willas went into a coughing fit, spewing specs of red onto his plate.

"You alright, brother?" Loras questioned, "You forget to chew your food again," he mocked with a smile, stabbing a piece of pie for himself.

Willas started breathing heavier, taking loud gasps of breath in between coughs.

"What's wrong with you, Willas?" Margaery asked her brother.

Willas narrowed his eyes at the pieces of pie held by a fork in each of his companions hands. With a swipe from his own hand, he sent the pieces flying to the floor, then falling to the floor himself.

Each person looked shocked at his attack on their foods, and then ran to the floor next to him. Rickon kicked the desk from his path and slid to the floor next to the lord of the Reach.

Rickon cluttered his hands around on Willas, not sure how to stop the cough and gushing of red strawberry from his mouth, parts of the foods were a darker red than others, a blood red.

"Willas?" Margaery said through raspy breaths of her own, her voice breaking among the sadness.

Loras scrunched his face, his lip quivering for his eldest brother.

"I ..." Willas sputtered out between coughs and deep airy breaths, "I've never saved someone's life before." He smiled and lifted his hands to pet at his siblings faces. "Feels good." It was true, ever since the crippling of Willas' leg, he would never be known as a famous hero of Westeros, with Garlan and Loras getting more of the fame. Though he had saved them, if the food was indeed poisoned as they all had begun to suspect.

A blood vessel in his eye had burst, leaving a stain of red and bleeding from the corner. A trail of strawberry and blood leaked from his mouth, and he gave his last breath, a smile on his face fading.

Margaery and Loras began to weep for their brother, silent crying sounds and salty water falling from their eyes, onto his corpse. Rickon stood to his feet, and looked to where the Hightower boy had been, and where he now stood with a company of guards.

"There they are!" he shouted, "they killed him." He pointed a finger to Rickon, the guards closing in with their swords drawn.

"You Stark filth," a guard insulted to Rickon, and moved closer.

"No, stop, he didn't do it," Loras protested, standing from his brother's corpse and holding his hands out to stop the soldiers.

"He was my brother," Margaery said through her stuttering breaths, "I know Rickon didn't kill him."

"The time in the North has corrupted and blackened you pretty flowers," another guard said to Margaery and Loras, pointing their swords to them as well.

"All I see is a few evil wolves," another guard said.

"You don't want to pick a fight with us, sirs," Rickon warned the knights, drawing his own sword from its sheath.

Loras sided with his lord-commander, drawing his sword to the four knights that blocked their exit.

The guards acted first, poking two of their swords to the pair of kingsguard. Their swords were easily knocked away, with cold Northern steel being thrust into their stomachs and to their hearts.

Rickon and Loras pulled their bloody blades from the guts of the guards and kicked their corpses to the floor. With only two left, the Hightower boy saw which side was in favor of winning and made a run for it.

Rickon and Loras took a few more swipes at the last guards, leaving them with several holes in their bodies, which crumbled to the floor.

"Come, we have to leave, this is our only chance, before that boy spreads more lies of what happened here!" Rickon yelled out, hoping over the bodies and waiting at the door for Margaery and Loras. "Are you coming?"

"But, Willas," Margaery remembered, looking back to her brother's lifeless body.

"There's nothing we can do for him now, we need to leave, before we're next," Rickon said.

"I can't go," Loras whispered, "I need to warn Garlan of what's happened here … if Willas was poisoned … then Garlan could be next, and their children."

"I understand, warn your brother, in the mean time, _we_ need to leave Margaery, and find Brandon and Donnel … Willas' son will think this is an act of war from Robb, if he is persuaded by his court to think this was Robb's doing that is."

"Fine," Margaery whispered, lifting her dress as to not get it bloodied with the stained corpses under them, she followed Rickon through Highgarden after Rickon and Margaery said their goodbyes to Loras.

They hurried through the halls, passing by guards who seemed to think something was wrong, but didn't know it was Rickon, Loras, and Margaery who were accused of the crime. Along the way, they collected their other two companions, and members of the Wolf Pack, Donnel Ryswell, and Brandon Cerwyn.

Rickon, Donnel, Brandon and Margaery made it to the stables, from where they seized four horses, saddled up, and made for the road to Winterfell with great haste.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks to everyone for reading, favoriting, and reviewing, it means a lot and I'm glad you've liked the story so far. I think I'll try to get a chapter out every weekend on Sunday, and maybe sooner since it's thanksgiving break. Hope you liked this chapter as well. If you want to critique something, feel free, I can take criticism.**

**And as for that guest who asked if Robb would get better, well, that's for me to write and for you to read :) but of course you can expect a few happy endings here and there for the characters, though there are going to be a few deaths in the future, so be warned … mwahahahaha!**


	3. The Ninth Member

**Daenerys**

Daenerys was descending the stairs with Ghost by her side, a soft, pale hand of hers petting his head as they walked. "Come, Ghost. We're going to find somewhere to eat."

Ghost twisted his head around to the kitchen they had just left, where Jon and Beron had occupied.

"Not there," she grumbled, still sore about Beron's comment to her.

The day Daenerys had arrived in King's Landing, with her dragons being the frontal part of the assault, she saw firsthand as she rode Drogon all of the damage and murder she committed that day. Through the blinding fires of her three dragons she saw hundreds of innocent people hide in the shadows of the flying beasts only to be burnt to a crisp in seconds; She could hear the wails of children, the shrieks of women, and the bellowing cries of men as her dragons mercilessly laid waste to her rightful seat and familial keep.

What she hadn't expected was for the people to stay loyal to the Baratheon King, Stannis, and fight to the last in his name. It must have been something he inspired that she could not, something he had and she lacked. It wasn't dragons, Dany had three of them, and more manpower at the current battle. Whatever it was, it failed to be seen by her.

She was young and naïve; ignorant and hopeful. No amount of fire and blood could end the fight.

Daenerys sighed, staring at a snow-covered patch on a stone wall she and Ghost stood next to. "I'd redo everything to save those people … everything."

Ghost nuzzled his nose into her hand and made a moaning sound.

Dany looked down and gave a half-smile to the direwolf, seeing in his eyes the fire that her dragons cast at the innocents at the siege of King's Landing, swirling and exploding balls of red, hot fire inside of Ghost's small animal eyes. Quickly, she looked away, and creaked a door open near her to walk inside with Ghost.

Before she could enter she heard her lover's call, though it wasn't in a loving tone, rather Jon was yelling from a window to his fellow brother's, to take up arms and find some assassin's."Brothers!" he called out to them, "brothers! Find the cooks! They've tried to poison us! Find them, and lock them up!" he yelled.

Upon their commander's words the crows began flying about the keep, pushing past each other with their claws at the ready. They pushed past Daenerys to get inside of a building, shoving her to the snowy base of the castle. With a fluffy thump she landed on her rump and peered at the speeding soldiers around her.

"How easily the dragon is knocked down to the ground by mere crows," a chubby cheeked man started, holding out a hand for her to grasp.

"I don't need your help," Dany returned, sitting up from the floor while patting herself clean clumps of snow.

"Are you alright?" Jon asked, walking up to Dany and Beron with his sword, Longclaw, in hand.

Beron turned to answer, "Still a little hungry, other than that, I'm doing great," he said with a sarcastic smile, "but this dragon seems to have lost her wings."

_What an ass._ Dany thought, scowling at the man when he couldn't see, though she would again even if he was looking. _How can Jon even be related to such a pompous, fat, jerk like him ?_

Jon shook his head at his nephew, and looked past him to his scuttling soldiers, all searching for the white-aproned killers.

"What's this all about assassin's?" Daenerys asked, looking with Jon at the many Watchmen all searching for the persons of suspect.

"Apparently the cooks poisoned our food. The bastards," Beron answered.

"With the way you look it should have been a foolproof plan," Dany remarked to Beron with a cunning smile.

He flinched his eyes at her, then looked to the ground in shame.

Dany wanted to take pride in her insult, but instead she looked away with equal shame that Beron had. _That didn't feel as good as I thought it would._

"I smelt the poison before he took a bite. Luckily we had the time to test it on a crow before Beron or I dug in," Jon stated, looking back and forth between Dany and Beron, both of whom were still looking shameful.

"Well, they're probably gone by now," Dany began, "I think I'll turn in for today," she spoke barely louder than a whisper.

"Oh, alright then," Jon sounded surprised, but nodded and dismissed her for now.

"Come, Ghost," Jon commanded to his wolf, beckoning him with a wave, and he obeyed. "We need to look for those murderers."

Daenerys trudged away a few meters from their position, making her way to her chambers.

"Oye! Get back here you craven son-of-a-bitch!" a Night's Watchman yelled, pursuing a man in a white apron holding a large meat cleaver in his hand.

Daenerys turned to the cook, her body seemingly frozen still by the cold, or rather by the shock and fear she now felt, for he was coming for her. She held her hand out to shield herself, instead of reaching for the sword she had placed firmly in it's sheath upon her black leather belt.

The man locked her in his arms, swinging her to be in front of him, and positioning the edge of the blade onto her throat. "Get the fuck away or I cut her open!" he yelled the the soldiers in black, all of whom were still slowly edging their way to him and Daenerys.

_No, he'll kill me._ Dany thought, coming to terms with death now, and realizing it could take her any moment now.

Jon emerged from the crowd, with Beron, Ghost, and Jorah at his side.

"Drop the weapons, or I swear I'll carve her open!" the cook yelled again, pressing the blade into Dany's throat, drawing some blood as it invaded the first thin layer of her skin.

Ghost gave a throaty growl to the man, scratching his front paws at the snow in front of him, ready to charge.

Jon and Jorah were the first to drop their steel, letting them sink into the snow and make a mold of the sword.

Jon looked around to his fellow brother's and gave the order to stand down. "Drop your weapons."

They looked amongst each other, giving various looks of doubt, and hate. They dropped their weapons, regretfully and with grumbling sounds, but they did drop them, all of them, all of the brother's that is.

Beron held his sword firmly in his hand, as did his soldiers.

"Beron, please, do what he says … I beg of you," Jon whispered to his nephew who now advanced slowly on the cook. "Don't."

_I shouldn't have insulted him … now he doesn't care if I live or die, he'll get me killed if it means killing this cook._

"Are you slow? I said stop, or I will split her neck open!" the cook yelled at Beron, stepping back once with Dany in hand.

"Oh I've no doubt you will, at the current moment and circumstances that is," Beron said in a calm tone and smile.

_What's he doing?_

"You see, I've never much understood the point to these last minute grab a prisoner and hope you get out alive scenarios … they never turn out. In fact, if the killer does cut the prisoner's throat, then all it does is further enrage his pursuers, to the point they will absolutely mangle him into something that doesn't even look human anymore, whereas before all they wanted to do was lock him up and question him for a bit."

"I'm not playing games here," the blade-wielding killer spoke again, hesitation in his voice.

"Neither am I, which is why I'll cut to the chase. If you don't let her out of your grasp now, I'm going to charge you, while watching you cut her throat, then I'll pull you to the ground, and beat you so bruised and bloody that it'll give a whole new meaning to the name _Black_ Brother."

The cook shivered like a rickety old man, either from the cold, or the evil vibe that Beron now gave off.

"Maybe I'll let Ghost get a few nibbles in before I pry him from you, and when you are an inch from death, staring it in the eye, I will save you … save you for Ramsey Bolton that is, where I'll ask him to flay the black bruised skin from your body, so I can bruise the muscle under it black again. You see, she's the only bargaining chip you have right now, and you would threaten breaking that chip, instead of trading it for a fair and easy escape from death?"

At the mention of that, the man gulped, then dropped the knife from his hands, and pushed Dany to the ground in front of him.

"Fine, there you go fatty, just send me to Ramsey Bolton. I agree to those terms of imprisonment," the man said, holding his hand up at head level, surrendered and ready for transport. _Why go to Ramsey, wouldn't he flay him? Seems like a strange option compared to staying here at the Wall in the prison._

"I'm afraid that's not an option," Beron replied, a blank look on his face as he nodded twice to two different Winterfell guards of his.

The soldiers came up behind the cook, kicking the back of his knees out, and locking him in place on the snowy ground, kneeling and looking up to Beron who had advanced to face him.

"You said!" the cook yelled out.

"I said a lot of things, and quite frankly I forgot most of them," Beron said, giving a dark laugh.

"Fuck you!" he yelled out, then receiving a blow from Beron's fat but strong fist to the face.

"Oh, shut up already." Beron smashed his fist into his face again, repeatedly he attacked him. Left fist, right fist, left fist, right. Non-stop he hammered into him. Beron broke every bone in the cook's face until the sounds of cracking bone were now coming from Beron's own fist.

"Bluhblureslahahaha," the cook spoke randomly through his juicy and bloodied jowls, most likely begging for the pain to end.

Minutes went by before Beron decided he had had enough. Some of the Watchmen had grown bored of watching the cook be beat to death, though at first they were loving it, cheering Beron on with shouts and laughs. Jon spent most of the time begging him to let up, and have justice be done, though Beron claimed it was being done.

"You ready to apologize yet?" Beron asked.

"I splorry!" he squealed.

"Not to me, to her," Beron reiterated, looking and pointing to Daenerys now. "You scared her, and I think that she wants an apology.

"I splorry!" he yelled again, barely understandable though Dany got the gist of it.

"I can't understand," Beron said to him, slapping the cooks red, black, and blue face, "speak up!"

"I splorry!" again he yelled, sounds of muffled crying coming from his shattered jaw, blood started to run down and drip off his face faster now, indicating he was indeed crying again through his smashed orbitals.

"That's better …." Beron said in an excited tone, looking around to the smiling men. "Now burn him," he commanded to his men, who gladly carted the man into their arms, and drug him off to the outside of the castle, while he screamed and cried like a baby. _I appreciate that he helped me, but this is too far._

"Beron, there's no need for that," Jon said, grasping his nephew's arms as he walked by him.

Beron pried himself from Jon's grasp, and continued walking with his men to burn the cook. "He'll turn into a wight if we don't burn him," Beron falsely rationalized to Jon.

"But he's still alive, and people don't come back from the dead now ever since the Others were destroyed," Jorah said, protesting the harsh treatment.

"I said, he'll turn into a wight," Beron grumbled without looking back, knowing full-well that he wouldn't turn into a wight, but rather he used it as reason to burn him without repercussion.

"We should have questioned him first," Jon noted, shaking his head at Beron as he walked away with his troop of men.

"Little late for that," Dany noted, dragging her eyes across the blood stained snow that trailed all the way from the spot in the courtyard where the man was beaten, to the gates where he was to be burned.

* * *

><p><strong>Olenna<strong>

Olenna Stark sat at the Septa's side with her sisters, the eldest of the Stark daughters, Lina Stark, and the third daughter, Talinelle Stark.

It was a small room, with the cold Northern light falling into the room through the arched windows and open door that led to a balcony of Winterfell's keep. There by the open door was Kyle Overton, standing with his steel and fur armored arms crossed over the other, the ninth member to the Wolf Pack, assigned at the moment to guard the Stark daughters with the exception of Alina who was nowhere to be found at the moment.

Septa Elyn was rambling on about the current session she was to teach the girls today, the history of the North, starting with the most recent.

She sat at the head of the long, polished wooden table, two sticks in her hands as she twirled them around to knit a garment of some sort as she spoke. "And so, with the combined forces of Stark and Tyrell, the rebels … er … liberators were able to smash Tywin Lannister's soldiers, and put an end to that old Lion once and for all."

The youngest girls wore dresses of blue, white, and gray silk, while Lina had a more elaborate dress that mimed Margaery's green and yellow Reachman dress.

"Did father ever fight in any battles himself?" Talinelle asked, looking up from the exemplary scarf she was creating in her small girl hands.

"Yes, many battles, from the siege of Casterly Rock, to personally fighting in the attack on King's Landing. Then there was his exploits beyond the wall, and ending the Others with his half-brother, Jon Snow," Elyn replied with a smile to her dutiful student.

"Why not anymore?" Olenna asked, a certain awkward sadness in her voice, because she knew the answer was going to be dodged from her or simply deflected.

"Well, there are no more battles to fight," Elyn simply put it.

"Why's father act so old?" Talinelle asked with the same sadness in her tone.

"I suppose he's just started aging faster than some do, after all, he's done a lot in his life. He's accomplished more in twenty years than most King's can say they have in eighty."

The younger girls just nodded slowly, sad and annoyed by the vague and meaningless answer.

"Lina?" Elyn started, looking to the eldest of the daughters. "Have you put any consideration into finding a husband?" Elyn stopped her knitting to wait on her answer.

"Sadly there are no men worthy enough, at least in my father's eyes. Since he hasn't offered me to anyone yet, I suppose it's just a waiting game now."

"But I thought you liked Bard?" Olenna questioned, and received a quick jab in the gut from Lina's elbow.

"Who is Bard?" Elyn asked.

"I don't know what they're talking about, Bard is a mere soldiers, not fit for a lady such as I," she deflected the question to Elyn's satisfaction of course.

"Oh, very well then, stop harassing your sister about this," Elyn commanded of the younger girls, who giggled and nodded. "Good, now back to what I was saying. War is a terrible place for ladies, which is why it's best to keep as far away from it as possible," she continued on.

Kyle, a young member to be a guard to the king, could be seen in the background, his hands up and clomping fingers together, in jest of Elyn's rambling speeches. He was a funny man, always trying to make light of a situation, finding joy in seeing the younger of the castle laugh, and even became a friend to these girls.

The girls gave laughs which they suppressed when they caught her gawking. She turned to the guard who had resumed his usual position, shoulders firm against the door frame, and arms locked together.

"Hmm …." she groaned and turned back to the girls to continue. "When your father, Robb, finally won the war, his reign began quickly as it should have. He did what he could to solidify his rule, from making a new form of currency in the silver Dires we use today, to instituting new and trustworthy lords as paramounts to the kingdom."

Kyle began his mocking moves of Elyn's mouth with his hands, receiving more stifled laughs from the girls.

"Kyle I would appreciate it if you stopped whatever it is you're doing, I'm trying to teach useful information here," Elyn said aloud without turning around, immediately stopping Kyle's insulting jokes.

Kyle cleared his throat before speaking. "Sorry, ma'am." The girls gave more grins to Kyle, who smiled back.

"Humph, back to what I was saying."

Clomping of steel boots came into the room from another open door that led into the hallway. An ugly scarred man entered, tall and giant in stature, he stared down at Kyle for a moment before speaking. "The King wishes to speak with you."

"Me?" Kyle questioned. "O-okay …."

"Aw …." Talinelle and Olenna whined.

Olenna spoke up, "I wanted Kyle to stay, he's funny, and a lot more interesting than Elyn here."

Elyn squinted her old, wrinkled, and gray eyes at Olenna.

"That's not an option," the Hound simply put it, looking back down to Kyle, "lets move."

_He's ugly, and scary. Why'd father choose him to be on his personal guard? He must be good I assume. _Olenna thought and spun up an idea that could suit her and her sisters. "Can we come too?"

"You need to finish your lesson," Elyn sputtered out.

Olenna and her sisters looked up to the hound and Kyle as they sat in there respective wooden chairs.

"Fine then, although I'm not sure if the King wants you there, I assume we'll find out. Now, lets go," the Hound said, smacking his hand against his waist, making clattering sounds with the metal armor.

The three oldest Stark daughters were relieved to finally be ending the study session, not that they didn't like a little here and there, but Elyn usually had them for most of the day, and right now they wanted to move a bit.

The sisters walked high and with pride, with the exception of Talinelle who nearly limped along with her sisters.

"What's wrong Talinelle?" Lina questioned her sister as they walked with Sandor and Kyle. "Why are you limping?"

"Oh," Talinelle began, and tried to straighten her posture, "I think it's just a cramp. Nothing to worry about." She smiled and scratched at her neck in awkward pain, bringing Olenna and Lina's attention to the scraggly hairs that grew from the back of her neck.

"You need a haircut as well," Olenna noted, making Talinelle pull the collar of her blue dress to better hide the short brown hairs.

"Yeah, I got it," she replied in annoyance.

The eldest sisters exchanged glances and let Talinelle be for now.

"What does father want to see you for, Kyle?" Talinelle asked.

"I suppose we're going to find out, aren't we?" he replied with a smile to the three girls.

"The King didn't sound happy about it," the Hound began, "Ramsey whispered something to him, and all of a sudden you were to be brought to the Great Hall to stand before the King."

Kyle visibly gulped a batch of spit and fear down his throat, while his eyes nervously shifted around the hall they walked. "I'm sure it's nothing," he said in a cracking voice; cracking with doubt and misunderstanding.

"You didn't do anything mean to father, did you?" Olenna asked, fiddling with her fingers as she talked.

"That's up to the King to decide … but, I doubt it's a trial or anything … to my knowledge I haven't done anything to anger him."

From a second hall, joined by an arched doorway, two men came walking through, one half a man, the other an old man with a missing hand.

"Lord Tyrion!" Talinelle yelled with excitement, nearly tackling the little-lord to the ground.

Tyrion laughed her off and gently brushed her away, recollecting himself. "What ever is the matter with you girl? It's not like you haven't seen me a few moons ago."

"I know, but before that I only saw you like a year ago. Are you going to stay longer this time?" Talinelle asked with a girlish giggle as she spoke.

"As long as I can, Tali. Right now I've been called to see your father, as I am part of his small council, he has a matter I need to observe."

"What matter would that be?" Olenna asked, looking over to Kyle, who hesitated speaking to Tyrion in fright of the answer.

"Not sure yet, apparently it's something dire enough to have me walk all the way to his Great Hall. My poor little legs can't take it," he said patting his legs and smiling at Talinelle who giggled at his joke.

"Who's the new guard?" Lina asked, nodding to the taller man cloaked in a tattered brown cloth garb.

Tyrion looked up to the man, who had a hand placed on his hip, presumably on a hidden blade inside his cloak. "A pit-fighter from Slaver's Bay. I found him on a Lannisport boat, stowed away with some supplies we were buying from a Volantis trading company. He's a great fighter, having experience with the beasts in the pits, and hardened soldiers he fought against as a sellsword," Tyrion said with a smile to the man.

"What kind of warrior fights well with only one hand?" the Hound asked, looking the old man up and down as he walked.

"Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Clegane?" Tyrion asked with a snide smile.

"Aye, I'm jealous of a man so well regarded for his swordsmanship that he was assigned to guard a dwarf such as yourself. Anyone of these girls could stab him to death with their sewing needles before he could draw his little shiv he's got hidden under that cloak."

"Arya probably could. She's got a needle too, just a better more pointy version," Talinelle said in a matter of factually tone.

The Hound simply grunted, maybe his version of a laugh.

"Your friend talk, or does he prefer to let you do it for him?" Sandor asked Tyrion, looking to the cloaked guard, who's face was well hidden with a sash that covered from the bridge of his nose downward. His emerald green eyes hidden behind stray pieces of white hair.

"He's a mute," Tyrion said, "his slave masters took his tongue from him when he mouthed off once."

"Should have kept it shut then," the Hound simply put it again.

"Indeed," Tyrion said, stopping with the rest of the party at a door that led to Robb's Great Hall, and Throne Room, "shall we?"

_I hope father is feeling well today._ Olenna thought, biting her lip in angst of whatever situation was to come next when they opened the door.

The Hound stepped forward, drawing both of the large doors open with his hands, and entering first with Kyle soon behind. Tyrion and his guard walked in next, taking a spot by one of the columns that lined the Throne Room. The daughters of Robb moved forward behind Kyle, walking with him to the King, who was sitting in his chair, rasping his fingers against the arm of the black and purple shining stone.

Olenna looked away from the people of the court, instead gazing upon the grand structure she stood in. It never failed to stun her, the scale of Winterfell. Only over a dozen years ago, the castle was much smaller, but still a big one. Bran Stark—Olenna's uncle, who spent most of his time in Greywater watch with his wife Merra, also lady to the Neck—was the one to expand the castle for Robb. He made use of one of the Dragon Queen's dragons, Viserion, warging into it as a means of carrying stones from one place to another on the castle, building the Keep up twice the size it was before. The building took less than six months with the help of the dragon on other builders. Once the dragon was no longer needed, Bran had flown it, while under control of his mind, back to the ruins of King's Landing, where he trapped it inside the Red Keep, and made it roast itself to death with its own fire with the help of several glasses of old wildfire. From that day onward, he was known as Bran the Builder, a title that the first of House Stark had originally held, but it was only fitting that this Bran get the same title.

Olenna smiled again at the grand structure before her, and returned her gaze to the court.

She saw ahead, her father sitting in his throne, gritting his teeth and frowning as he usually did now. Beside Robb there was Ramsey Bolton, the Lord of the Dreadfort, and his second born son, Michael Bolton who was armored for battle it seemed.

Robb spoke up as the Hound took his place by him with the other Wolf Pack members besides Kyle. "Having a good morning Kyle?" Robb asked with a devilish smile on his face.

"Yes, your grace. I have been by your daughters' sides, helping protect them as my job requires," Kyle stated with pride, looking back to the daughters who stood behind him.

"Indeed ..." Robb began, "though I am told you might have been protecting my family … a little over-zealously. Is this true?" Ramsey smiled, showing his discolored and disgusting teeth, as Robb finished.

"Your grace?" Kyle questioned.

"Ramsey Bolton, the liege-lord to your family, the Overtons, tells me that you were speaking of my ex-wife, Margaery Tyrell," Robb leaned forward in his chair to hear Kyle's response better.

"I … of course, she is-was the Queen. It is only natural that I speak of her sometimes."

Robb lifted his hand from the arm of his throne, fluttering the fingers at his daughters, signaling them to move. They did as bid, and stepped to the side where other members of the court stood, watching the King speak.

"Ramsey tells me that you have had sexual relations with my wife, and were one of her many lovers," Robb chewed on the words for a moment, pressing his lips together as if it hurt to say it.

"What. That's … that's not true. I would never-" Kyle blurted out in rage.

"Oh, but you did. I got the information from a servant of your families, upon certain persuasion he told me all about your scandalous affair," Ramsey said with a evil grin on his face to match his son's.

"My King, he lies! I would never do such a thing, never even think of it!"

"I don't know, you are a handsome man," Robb stated, squinting his eyes at Kyle, "Locks of pretty blond hair; powerful brown eyes; a strong jaw; chiseled cheeks on that unblemished face of yours. I think I caught Loras Tyrell giving you a few glances when you went to change out armor pieces. And I think I saw you look back," Robb said with a joking smile.

The hall erupted into a bout of laughter, voices mixing together in the barrage of giggles and screams. Robb smiled at his seemingly hilarious joke, looking around at the courtiers who tried to hide their smiling faces, and quiet themselves for the King to speak.

"Clearly you're modeling yourself after me," Robb said with a laugh of his own, and more laughs from the crowd. Chuckles, and yells of hilarity, tears began to fall from some of their faces as they overexagerated their laughing. _Anything to kiss my father's ass._ Olenna though, rolling her eyes at the crowd. The only people who remained silent were the Wolf Pack members—Including Kyle—the three sisters, Tyrion, and the man from Essos who couldn't laugh either way.

_I know Kyle, he wouldn't do that, he's extremely shy when it comes to speaking to women, even us._ Olenna thought, looking to her sisters who had confused as well as angry expressions on their faces. They didn't know what to believe, and neither did Olenna for the most part.

"It is a great crime to lie to a king, Kyle. Speak truly and all will be well," Ramsey's son, Michael said with a nod in his direction.

"Silence you craven son-of-a-whore!" Kyle yelled in rage again, Michael and Ramsey simply chuckled.

"Very well," Robb began in a louder voice, speaking to the room of people as a whole, "since no one here knows the truth of the charges, I assume it's time for a trial-by-combat."

"Aye, that I agree to. Who am I fighting?" Kyle asked, gripping the hilt of his sword as it rest in it's sheath. "Lets see Ramsey, you talk a mighty tone 20 meters away from me, lets see what you have to say when you're 20 centimeters away from me."

"Oh, that won't be necessary, I've selected my son as my champion. Michael, are you ready?" Ramsey asked, looking over to his son, who had already began his walk to the strip of flat stone area in front of the King.

"I am, father," he replied, drawing his greatsword and holding it in both hands.

Michael was outfitted in his own personal set of Northman armor; he wore a heavy breastplate, with the markings of a flayed man on the front. Behind the armor was a pink cloth, the colors of house Bolton. Everywhere there were joints on his body there was pink cloth and a plate of Bolton armor overlying it.

Olenna noted the sword, it was long and heavy looking. It didn't look valyrian, but it was intricate. The hilt was wrapped in a pink leather, and the symbol of a human head took the spot of the pommel of the sword; It was a dark pink in color, like the Bolton's flayed man, and had rubies in it's small eye sockets.

"You like it?" Michael asked Kyle who was also admiring the blade, "It's not valyrian steel, but it's thick and sharp. Luckily for me, I'm strong enough to tote this thing around like it's a loaf of bread."

Kyle's face started to shake with worry, drops of sweat went crawling down his face as he already started to doubt the outcome of the battle.

"I call it Death's Dagger," Michael said with a devious smile.

"Remember now," Robb called to the room, standing up from his chair, wobbly feet he stood on, supporting himself by holding onto his cane, "if Kyle wins, then Ramsey Bolton will be executed for bringing false charges to me," Ramsey looked to the King, the slightest hint of worry in his eyes, "and if Kyle loses … well … then he dies." Robb sat back down into his chair, ready for the fight.

"Kyle," Olenna whispered to her friend, gaining his attention, "don't lose."

Kyle smiled, a tear in his eye as he looked on to his three friends, the Stark girls who he's come to know and care for after several years of protecting them.

The girls started to cry, water pooling in their eyes, some dripping down their pretty faces.

"Don't worry girls, don't be afraid," he cautioned them, holding the smile, "all things change." He nodded and turned around, drawing his smaller single handed-sword for battle. Kyle turned to glance at the King, who glared back at him with anger and sadness in his eyes. _My father doesn't want to do this, I can see it. He knows Kyle is innocent, he has to. It's that Ramsey Bolton, he's doing this to my father, it has to be him._

Olenna watched helplessly with her sisters as the trial began, "May the Gods guide the truest man's sword!" Robb declared, and clapped his hands, signaling the start of the fight.

"My family has been bannermen to your house for hundreds of years you pasty-face, cock-sucking fuck!" Kyle yelled, charging Michael once he thought he had caught him off guard with his talking.

Michael pushed his sword forward, bouncing Kyle's own sword off of his, pushing him away with the strength of the parry. Michael took the next few seconds time to swing back at Kyle, trying to catch him offguard as he turned around.

Kyle jumped backward, the sword merely nicked the steel Wolf Pack armor he wore. He again lunged forward, thinking he saw a weak spot in Michael's stance. Kyle cut in between the plates of Michael's arm bracer, slicing into his arm, making him drop the heavy sword.

"Yeah, go Kyle!" Talinelle screamed, pumping her fist with happiness.

Olenna smiled, holding in the good feelings she felt. _Just a few more hits Kyle, come on._

Lina darted the tips of her fingers to her mouth, stopping the flow of mucus as she closed her eyes. Just that little patch of blood on Michael's arm was about to make her burst out with a nasty batch of puke. Olenna noticed, and took a few steps away.

Robb turned to his daughters, giving them stern looks, telling them to silence themselves, and they did as bid again.

"Your plans almost ruined, Ramsey!" Kyle yelled with a laugh, looking at Ramsey who gave a grotesque looking smile, as if he was utterly repulsed by the turn of events. "You've got one more son after this one! Soon you'll be dead, you're second son dead, and all it will take is a few coins to finish off the last I suppose! Then maybe the King will reward the Overton family with what they deserve!"

"Fight, Michael," Ramsey calmy commanded of his son.

Kyle walked a few steps from Michael and turned for round two.

"How can he, his sword is useless to him now!" Kyle yelled again.

"Shut up and fight, Kyle!" Olenna yelled to her friend. Kyle looked to her and nodded, ending his rant of pride and went back to fighting.

Michael started walking toward Kyle as if he was welcoming death.

"Oh, very well then," Kyle said, lifting his sword high and to the right, ready to end Michael with one more swing.

As he brought the sword down, Michael reached into s pocket attached to his shin-guards, pulling a jagged dagger from the holster. He dodged the blow, and positioned the dagger into Kyle's calf, and quickly pulled out. _No …._

"Ah!" Kyle screamed for a second with pain, limping ahead and holding his leg. "You tricky fuck!"

Michael was now facing the Stark daughters, with his devilishly red-looking eyes he stared at them and smiled, with a bow he turned and readied himself for the final part of this bloody dance. Michael flipped the blade in the air, catching it between two fingers at the point of the knife. He cocked it back behind his head, and sent his flying through the air. It spun several times, glimmering as it went, finally finding a spot in Kyle's thigh, missing the armor completely.

"Dammit!" Kyle let out another cry of pain.

Michael rushed for the blade, the only blade he had left, the one inside Kyle. Kyle dropped his sword, knowing he wasn't well enough to hold it anymore, and instead opted for pulling the dagger from his body.

Kyle ripped the metal from his leg, and held it in both hands, blood drizzling down his thigh and leg until it met the floor and pooled under him.

Michael locked hands with Kyle, both men struggled for the blade, wrestling for dominance over the other until they were nearly touching foreheads at the distance they were from each other.

"Father," Olenna called out to Robb, who broke his attentive gaze of the battle to see his daughters, "make it stop, please … father make it stop! He's had enough, let him go!" Olenna yelled, tears swelling in her eyes, clouding her sight.

"Please, father," Lina said in between her raspy breaths.

Robb shook them from sight, turning his attention back to the struggling men.

"Daddy," Talinelle called in a sweet girl voice, being the youngest of the girls she still had the squeakiest voice, the most innocent voice, "daddy please let the man go."

Robb turned his head at the girl and her sisters.

"Please daddy," Talinelle began to cry, hiding the tears with the palms of her hands.

"Girls?" Robb asked in a lighter voice than the usual gruff and withered voice he spoke with. He spoke with the voice he had months earlier. He smiled to the girls, a teardrop falling down his cheeks as he gazed at his beautiful daughters. "My girls." Greywind gave a crying sound from his pen; a crying sound of happiness apparently. He perked up and looked to his master with a dog-like smile on it's wolfish face.

"My King!" Ramsey called in a yell, a dagger of his own out, looking strange and twisted in shape, pointed to the fighting men. "The fight is almost won."

Robb cocked his head to the dagger, watching it glimmer in the light from the tall glass windows of the hall. It seemed to sparkle various colors like the pendant he wore around his neck. He continued the dumbstruck look until his head shook again, and he started a coughing fit.

"Father?" Olenna asked her father, who, after a few seconds, had finished coughing.

"Silence Olenna," he commanded, looking back to the fight with an evil smile on his face again.

_That was strange._ Olenna thought, then realizing she wasn't going to get her way with her father this time.

The men were finishing their struggle, with Michael seemingly the victor.

Michael turned the blade in Kyle's hands, twisting it to point at the veins in his wrists. With a forcful shove, Michael sent the blade into Kyle's wrists, cutting every vein that led the his hands.

Kyle let go after his wrists were cut, and stumbled back. Blood flowed from his hands until they were completely red and wet with blood.

Kyle looked up to Michael, his eyes twitching, and fell back to the ground, blood still flowing from all of the holes and cuts in his body.

"Kyle?" Olenna asked with teary eyes.

Michael tossed the knife back, landing in front of Olenna's feet, touching her dress. She looked down to it, seeing drops of clear liquid plop against the blade, mixing with the blood, and slowly cleaning the blade as she cried. Then an idea popped into her head.

She reached down to the ground, picking up the knife, and holding it tight in one hand. She stared at the back of Michael Bolton's head, wanting to drive it into his spine and watch him squirm.

With a single step forward, she was stopped. Brienne Tarth held her back with an arm, and pried the knife from her grasp. Brienne holstered the blade in a spare spot on her armor, and started to coral the girls away. "Come my ladies, this is no place for you now."

"But I wanted to-" Olenna started.

"I know, but you can't," Brienne finished, carting her off with her sisters, and making for the door far away.

"Very well! It is decided! But who is to fill the ninth spot of the Wolf Pack?" Robb called out, looking to the Bolton boy first.

"I might have someone worthy, my King!" Tyrion called out from afar, tapping the hand of his personal guardsman.

"Ha!" The Hound bellowed, shaking his head at the one handed man. "He's not worthy, my King. He's only got one hand."

More laughs from the crowd had broken out. Every breath the crowd breathed into a laugh Olenna hated them even more. _How can they laugh at a time like this, someone's just been killed. My good friend._ Olenna looked around to her sisters, all of whom were crying softly as they were pushed out of the room.

"Well then, I suppose Michael has proven himself more than worthy here today if you don't mind me saying so, my King," Ramsey said, walking over to his son and patting him on the shoulder. "Let him join your guard, and he will not bring shame to your name … or mine."

"I agree, he can join!" Robb yelled out in his raspy broken voice. "Come say the words then, and become my guardsman."

"Yes, my King," Michael said with a smile, walking over and kneeling before the king just as Brienne had left with the girls and closed the doors behind her, Michael began the phrase of the Wolf Pack.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sorry this one took so long to put out, but here it is, hope you liked it and I'll try to update more frequently.**


	4. Artificial and Natural Evil

**Eddard**

The eldest of the Stark children stood tall at attention in the King's Throne Room, his eyes fixated on a puddle of blood, being wiped up by a servant boy. The bloody puddle branched off on the floor, seeping into the cracked stone base, and flowing red rivers in between different stones on the floor. The servant boy did his best to wipe the blood up, constantly soaking the bloody sponge into a bucket of water and returning to cleaning.

The rough voice of his father drove Eddard's eyes back to the throne, where his father held council with some nobles.

"Who could have done such a thing?" Robb asked. "I mean … he was a cripple, so it couldn't have exactly taken the most skilled plotter, but how could they have poisoned his food?"

Ramsey gave a quiet giggle and spoke up, "I heard tell that your brother, Rickon, Loras Tyrell and his sister Margaery were seen last with Lord Willas."

Eddard and his father's ears perked up at the mentioning of Margaery's name.

"My mother didn't eat any of the food?" Eddard asked with haste, turning the heads of the other present lords.

"What would it matter?" Ramsey asked with a shrug, "she's not the queen anymore. Who would care?"

"I would!" Eddard yelled, taking a step toward the Bolton Lord. "She's still my mother."

"Son," Ramsey began with a set of false sad eyes, "your mother's a whore."

Eddard wrapped his palm around the hilt of his sword, pulling it half out of its sheath. "You bastard," he said and stopped himself from drawing the blade out completely.

Tyrion took a step back from the two men, and let his guard take several forward, with his only hand presumably on a sword he kept hidden in his robe.

Ramsey held his hands up in a surrendering look. "Legitimized." Ramsey corrected with a smile.

"Stop this bickering!" Robb yelled out in his hoarse and weak voice. "I've more important business than to babysit you whelps! Now step down."

"Of coarse, my liege," Ramsey obeyed, giving a small bow.

"Sorry father," Eddard said, giving in and knowing there was no way to off the Bolton Lord yet.

_I'll remember that you flippant bastard. _Eddard thought of Ramsey, squinting at him as his father stared.

Robb took a long glance around the room, inspecting the other lords. He beamed his eyes at Tyrion and his guard, his shaking blue eyes were so commanding that they alone were enough to force Tyrion and his guard to take several steps back. Moving his gaze to the Master of Laws, Roger Flint, Robb received a reassuring nod and moved on to spy the maester who shook so violently as Robb stared that the chains started to rattle around his old wrinkled neck.

Bates, the maester, had served Winterfell since the passing of Luwin 16 years prior. Maester Bates was a stuttering fool, and a dribbling idiot in comparison to the rest of the maesters around Westeros. He had an oily head, with patches of gray hair everywhere on his head but the crown.

"My brother Rickon is the Wolf Pack Lord Commander, he wouldn't dishonor me with that pathetic assassination. Though, when he returns, I will inquire about said event, now that the woman should have been safely deposited to Highgarden he can return." _He won't even say her name now, Margaery, he's losing it more and more. _Eddard thought, shaking his head in disapproval of his father. "What other news have we?" Robb asked the court.

"We-we-well there is some ta-ta-talk of a stra-strange sme-smell in the godswood, ne-ne-near the spring water," Maester Bates managed to say through his weak stutters and gasps of breath. "It's a str-str-strong smell that leaves the people ne-ne-near the godswood feeling lighthe-he-headed."

"Maybe The Hound took a shit near one of the trees," Tyrion suggested with a joking smile, "he has a certain smell about him."

"I do-don't think it's that, my Lord," Bates replied.

"Whatever it is, we should investigate," Robb proposed, "Roger, have some men search the godswood for the source of this strange smell."

Roger nodded affirmatively to his king. "Yes, my liege."

"Which leaves the matters of the coin. Anything pressing?" Robb asked Tyrion.

"There is Harrold Hardyng, who is asking once again for the money he loaned us to be returned to him," Tyrion said with a painful look on his face, knowing the answer would be the same as it always was.

"Ha!" Robb laughed aloud. "He thinks I owe him? That's grand!"

"Perhaps it would be best just to pay him off, so he quits asking," Tyrion responded to the outburst. "We have the money for it, and after all, he does have your sister."

"Yes, he does _have_ her. She is his property to do with as he pleases, as is the purpose of wives after all. Let him bash her around if that's what he's in to. He'll not get a single dire from me. And if he so chooses to go to war with me, or insult me further then we can decimate him and his pathetic mountain army."

"Excellent thinking, my king," Ramsey agreed with a few claps, "hold strong against that lowborn twat. He knows his place."

Tyrion frowned, looking to the ground and spoke in a whisper, "I hope so, for Sansa's sake."

"Now, if that will be all, I'd much like to slumber the rest of the day away," Robb stood from his shining black throne, holding the similar cane in his hands and pressing it against the floor to support his wobbly legs.

Just as everyone was clearing out of the Throne Room, William Stark came running into the room through an open door, screaming like a girl and flailing his arms around as he approached Eddard.

"What is it, Will?" Eddard asked as he caught the boy in his hands by the shoulders, keeping him stationary and bending a knee to look his little brother in the eyes.

"I saw a spider! It was like as big as my fist, and really hairy, and had big fangs, and eight legs, and-and-and-and," William cried into Eddard's arms.

The other lords who were in the middle of leaving only gave passing glances and let the matter be to the boys alone. Just a spider after all, or at least they thought it wasn't a big deal. "Don't worry, it's not going to kill you," Eddard reassured.

"What's going on?" their father asked, his body hunched over and eyes squinted as he stared down at his youngest boy.

"I saw a spider," William said after a moment of hesitation.

"You know that spider probably saw you too," Robb noted, making the boy whimper a bit louder. "It probably remembers what you look like, maybe even where you sleep at night." William turned away from his father and cried into Eddard's arms again. "It'll eat you in the middle of the night if you don't know how to defend yourself."

"Father," Eddard spoke with a hardness in his voice, shaking his head disapprovingly at his father.

"What?" Robb asked and straightened his posture to only a slight hunch. "The boy needs to learn how to defend himself. I'll not have a craven for a son."

"It was just a spider."

"Yeah, and pretty soon it will be just an assassin. The boy needs to learn how to hold a sword now. I think it's time he learned," Robb, turned away from his sons slowly, and made his way to a far door in the large room, his cane clicking against the stone floor and echoing throughout the hall as he left. "Come with me, bring William, that's an order from your king."

Eddard had never disobeyed his father, and assumed there was no point in starting now. "Come William, you'll learn to hold a sword now."

"I don't want to learn yet!" Will yelled out and began to cry again.

"I never wanted to either, but look at me now. I'm one of the best in the realm. Eddard 'The Great Wolf' they call me."

"What do they call father?" Will asked, wiping tears with the palms of his little hands now, gaining some confidence with Eddard's speech.

Eddard had heard talk of what _they_ called his father: Robb 'The Red' for his bloody solution to problems and evil mindset; The Mad King, or Mad Wolf more popularly; but at a time they called him something else.

"They call him The Young Wolf, William."

"He's not young, he's like, a thousand years old."

Eddard laughed and took the time to slowly walk with William to where their father had gone, using the talking time as a good distraction before William would hold a weapon he didn't want to. "Well, he's not that old. They called him The Young Wolf because he was only sixteen years of age when he rode to battle against the tyrant king, Joffrey Baratheon … er … Lannister. He—along with his bastard brother—defeated the Others in the second War for the Dawn. He brought an end to Queen Daenery's dragons, the last of their kind, and banished her, the last of her kind to the Wall."

"That sounds hard, and really scary," William whispered, frightened at even thinking of battle.

"It can be, but you'll have to be brave, for this is the world we live in."

"I'll try," William said with a sniff.

"Good," Eddard said with a smile, ruffling his brother's short brown hair as they walked out of the Throne Room and searched for their father, all the while wondering where it was he was taking them and what it was he wanted with them.

* * *

><p><strong>Sansa<strong>

In the Maiden's Tower of the Vale, Sansa Stark was perched upon her white bed covered by a reflective blue velvet sheet embroidered with a lighter blue design of swirls. She was surrounded by walls of snow white color, wrapped in winding designs of a blue stone vine shape. Sansa herself was clothed in a dress suited for the now cold weather; She wore a blue cloth dress that covered her body from neck to toe, with silver arm bands clasping the sleeves down and cotton lining the edges and openings of her dress.

With her were her two daughters, the only children she had, Vivyen and Jeyne. Both girls had their mother's thick auburn hair, blue eyes, and high cheekbones. The girls were both fair for their ages of 14 and 8, they were energetic, playful, and lissome girls.

Vivyen, the oldest, sat on the bed letting her mother position her hair into a silver tiara and two different clasps to give her hair an intriguing shape. Jeyne watched from the head of the bed, hidden in a pillow fort that she would say rivals the Eyrie itself, peaking her head out of a hole in between two pillows.

"When will it be my turn, mother!" Jeyne yelled from the pillow fort, pushing herself out of it, letting the pillows topple to the floor as she rolled out.

"Jeyne, I've already done your hair three times in the past thirty minutes. Shouldn't your sister have a turn?" Sansa replied and smiled to her daughter that now curled up beside her as she sat on the bed, laying her head in her lap.

Sansa finished styling Vivyen's hair and moved to pet her youngest daughter's head as she calmly breathed herself to near sleep. Sansa poked at the strands of Jeyne's hair that stood up around the center of her crown, banded at the base to stick up and fall back down loosely to her head, with her long bangs covering parts of her eyes.

"I think it's time you girls went to see your tutor," Sansa said, making the girls yell out in sadness and protest.

"But we want to stay with you, can't we stay a while longer mother?" Vivyen asked, turning around and wrapping her arms around her mother so she couldn't leave.

"I'm sorry girls-" Sansa began but was cut off by the door swinging open.

From the opening, Harrold Hardyng walked in, a hand on his belt, the other resting on his sword hilt. Some time ago Harrold had a sword made, a falcon's head was sculpted from weirwood as the pommel, the hilt coiled in thin bands of various colors of red and shades of gray, while the blade was nothing special from any other longsword.

Jeyne immediately began to snore as her father entered the room, just snoring, not sleeping, all she wanted to do was ignore him until he left so she could talk to her mother again without him being there.

The Lord-Paramount of the Vale looked to his wife and gave a gruff sigh. "I do wish you would let me know where you always ran off to. A husband should know where his wife prances off to in his own castle."

"And a wife should know where her husband slithers off to, when he should be by her side, and not in the embrace of another," Sansa said with malice and hate hidden in her voice, questioning his faithfulness to her, though near everyone already knew he spent time around whores and servant girls more than he did his wife, oft times he would share lips with them at feasts for all to see, and be seen later carting them off to some chamber room to share more than lips.

Harrold stomped forward to his wife, being stopped when his route was blocked by his now standing daughter, Vivyen. Vivyen stared her father in the eye, a frown on her face, and waited for him to hit her or leave. Sansa gripped her daughter's arm, pulling her away from her father. _You shouldn't have to share my pain Vivyen._ Sansa thought with a half-smile for her daughter's bravery. Harrold had never struck his daughters before, and Sansa was only half-sure that he never would.

"You may not have my face," Harrold stated, looking down to his daughter, "but you share my bravery, I'll give you that."

_Bravery? Oh, yes, all of the heroes of the ages were notoriously known for their skills at beating their wives and bedding whores._

A silence ensued for what felt like a minute of Harrold just staring at his wife and daughters. "Is he gone yet?" Jeyne asked aloud, stopping her snoring for a second but keeping her eyes closed. _Couldn't you have just opened your eyes, Jeyne?_ Sansa thought, watching Harrold's face sour with anger as he glared at his youngest girl. Harrold raised his hand, looking to his wife regardless of his oldest daughter's earlier bravery to defend her mom.

Sansa closed her eyes hard and angled her head away from him, ready for her punishment.

"My Lord!" A man called with a shout.

Thankfully the interruption halted Harrold's attack, and opened Sansa's eyes to him.

A portly man with a scraggly red beard, thin red hair, and sad blue eyes that looked tired with bags under them to mimic the tired effect was Sansa's hero this time. He continued his sentence, "Urgent news from a raven, the seal is that of the Seaworths, it says it's for your eyes only."

"Splendid, let me see it!" Harrold yelled with excitement, hopping to the man who held the letter, and stuffed it in a pocket of his red and white checkered tunic.

Harrold left the room, turning down a hallway and made for a private area to read his letter.

The fat man who had saved Sansa from this session of beatings just stared at her, with his sad eyes that slowly blinked. He turned to follow his Lord-Paramount, an orange or bronze cloak swung with him, the markings of dots at the center of the cloak and black runes at the edges of the cloak.

_Royce? Lord Royce._ Sansa thought, silently thanking the fat and strange man as he left the room with more guards behind him.

Sansa went back to stroking her youngest daughter's head, and felt something wet around her face.

"Jeyne, are you crying?" she asked.

Jeyne didn't reply with words, instead she sat up and wrapped her arms around her mother, squeezing her tight. Vivyen joined in on the hug, wrapping her arms around the both of them.

Sansa shared tears with her daughters, and gently rubbed their backs with her hands. "Maybe we can sit here a little while longer. I think you can skip studying today," Sansa said, receiving only stiff nods from her daughters.

Lady Sansa lifted her hand to her face, rubbing at a fading bruise on her cheek and wiping tears away, while using her other hand to pet at her daughter's hiding heads, pushed against Sansa's dress and dousing it in tears.

* * *

><p><strong>Eddard<strong>

"Father, you don't have to do this, let someone else teach him," Eddard begged, watching his father pick a wooden sword from a rack near the armory.

"No, I do!" Robb yelled out. "The boy needs to learn how to fight, how to be ruthless. You could all learn a thing or two from your brother, Beron. He's a true warrior, a true man," Robb, nearly faltered as he talked, his leg almost giving out as he took a place in the courtyard.

_Yes, Beron The Bad, Beron The Bloody, Beron The Big. I love my brother, but he needs to learn kindness before he receives my respect, as does my father now._

"Pick up your sword William," Robb commanded, looking and pointing with his sword to his youngest son.

"Are you sure it can't wait, father. He's only five," Eddard pleaded.

"No, it can't, now pick up your sword," he said again to William.

A few servants gathered around the courtyard to view the training, leaning on arched doorways and keeping their distance from the oncoming mock-battle.

William picked up a sword, trying to lift it in his weak arms. "I don't want to fight you, father," William muttered but took a spot across from his father regardless.

"You need to learn how to defend yourself, you're going to be a soldier for Eddard's armies one day; a soldier for Westeros. Now, hit me!" Robb yelled in command to his son, stepping forward within reach of his sword. "I want you to do it, hit me!"

"But I don't want to," William whined, hanging his head and dripping bright tears to the bright snow, the salty tear water dissolving snow as it plopped against the ground.

"Hit me, William, come on. Just do it, hit me, hit me," Robb continued, tapping Will's sword with his own. "I command you to fight."

"He's five years old father, cut him a break," Eddard pleaded once more.

"If I cut him a break now, then several years later in battle someone will literally cut him or break him, he needs this. Now, be silent!" Robb yelled, and knocked William's sword away again.

Robb's mother pushed through a crowd of people, standing next to Eddard and looking on. "What is he doing?" Catelyn asked.

"He thinks it's time for William to learn how to fight," Eddard replied and sighed.

"He's only-"

"Five," Eddard finished, "I know, I told him, and he doesn't care."

"Robb, stop this madness at once!" Catelyn yelled to her son.

"Don't you have some dresses to be making, or some poems to be writing. Leave the men to their work, woman!" Robb insulted, and lifted his sword to his side.

William tried to swing his sword at his father, but dropped it upon finishing the missed attack.

Robb smiled while William swung his sword, thinking the boy could deflect his next shot, Robb swung his own sword at William, bashing him in the arm.

A cracking sound came from Will's arm, and he fell back in the snow, wailing and clenching at his arm. "My arm!" he yelled.

The crowd gave a gasp, some members hiding in far rooms, others waiting on edge for what would happen next.

"Robb!" Catelyn yelled, rushing to William, and sliding to kneel down by his side, covering the bottom of her dress in thick snow.

"Father!" Eddard yelled as well, and ran to his father, pulling the sword from his hands and tossing it far away.

"What! He's okay!" Robb yelled in his defense, looking around Eddard to his crying son.

"No he isn't!" Catelyn yelled, lifting William's arm in her hands. Touching the arm alone made Will scream in agony. "I think it's broken."

"Broken?" Robb whispered, his voice laced with sadness. "Are you sure?" he reiterated, voice breaking in the sadness.

"I told you not to do that!" Eddard yelled in rage to his father, inches from his face as he roared at the Mad Wolf. "I knew something like this would happen. You, you, you, you idiot!" Eddard yelled.

The insult hurt Robb even further, and enraged him. His eyes lost their softness once more, and he returned to the mad persona he usually had.

Robb backed away and sent his open hand flying into Eddard's face, smacking him hard and knocking him back and onto his knees.

The crowd gave another gasp of shock, and quietly began to mutter strange whispering sounds.

Robb hunched over to his son for a second, stopping himself from touching him. The King looked for a moment to his hands, and to Eddard's face, where an imprint of his hand was forming with a red welt. "I'm, I'm sorry," Robb apologized, and backed away, looking to the gossiping group of servants and guards.

"Robb, what's happened to you?" Catelyn asked as she held a crying William in her arms.

Eddard's face pinged with physical pain for only a moment, but the emotional pain was ten fold as bad as the physical pain. His father had never struck him before, or anyone for that matter. Eddard hid tears as best he could, and looked away from his father in shame of him, instead he stared at the blank snow.

"You're all a bunch of strangers! Others take you all!" Robb yelled to the crowd. The King grabbed his dragonglass cane and hobbled into the castle, muttering curses as he left, and pulling a black and gray cloak close to his neck to hid his color swirling dragonglass necklace from foreign eyes.

"Someone, find the maester, bring him here now!" Catelyn yelled, "Hurry you fools!" she yelled to the motionless crowd who slowly began to depart.

_The look in father's eyes when he … did that … he didn't want to, I saw it, I know he didn't want to. I know it sounds crazy but the only answer is … is … that he's cursed._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This one was a little shorter than normal, which might be a good thing, since the other chapters were so long they might get boring. Do you guys like the chapter length at around 5000 words like I've been doing, or more like this one at under 4000? Let me know if you want me to change it, if not I'll keep it the same. Thanks for reading, hope you liked it.**


	5. Suspicion

**Jon**

"Well, Jon. It was nice seeing you again," Beron said, saddling his horse in one swift jump.

"And you, Beron," Jon returned, walking to stand near the head of his nephew's horse.

"I think I enjoyed this stay more than the last. Cyvasse can be a fun game, but I find that literally beating the bones from someone's body more enjoyable than beating you at a stupid game," he said while inspecting his bloodied knuckles, squinting at the damage the assassin's face had done to his fat fingers.

Jon noticeably readjusted his stance, backing up a pace from his nephew. _I fear he is becoming like his father, as of late that is. Robb was never like he was until recent, but Beron … I fear he was always like this. Best I do us both a favor, and not anger him in any way—not that I think he would harm me—but if he should lose his temper, he might do something he otherwise wouldn't. This way I spare him the stain of kinslaying and he spares me my life._

"Well, as I said, nice having you here," Jon said with a nod, forgetting for a time what his nephew was like, and how bloody he could be.

"Very well." Beron pulled the reins and gave a piercing whistle to his soldiers. "We're riding out!" He called to them. "Back to Winterfell, after a stop to Mole's town!" Beron turned his horse once more back to face Jon. Although Jon had broken from the conversation and was watching Dany talk and laugh to Ghost, a stick in her hand as she teased the poor direwolf with it, watching it snap for the stick and moan when it failed to snatch it.

Jon smiled, seeing the woman he loved enjoying her exile more than anyone who had a claim to the Iron Throne would. _No longer does she lead armies in the field, or set aflame entire cities; now she lays with me, and manages a mostly worthless wall with me. Life is pretty perfect right now, and I would give almost anything to freeze it right here, stopping everything with the cold of the North, and thawing it later with out love._

"Hey!" Beron yelled with a whistle, "I know I may only be the third most attractive and interesting thing here right now, with you know who ranking first at ten thousand percent perfection." He nodded out to Dany who was still laughing and toying with the snowy wolf, "and my horses ass ranking second, then me as third, but I'm trying to talk to you."

Jon smiled, and turned to his nephew. "I might wonder where I rank on that list of yours?"

"You're fifth. Porther's got you beat by just a sliver." Beron turned his head to look at his large group of guards, pointing at one who was having difficulty mounting his horse, in part due to only having one arm. When he mounted it he turned to look at his captain, Beron, and then Jon saw his competetor for the fourth spot on Beron's attractive list. He was missing an eye, and didn't even bother to patch it up with anything. He also seemed to have had part of his face clawed by some beast, with three large scratch marks trailing down the right side of his face.

Jon blenched his face at the ugly man and looked back to Beron who had a mocking grin on his face. "Well I can't deny his face is … more unique than mine."

"Ha ha!" Beron gave a short breath of deep laughs. "Anyway, as I was saying, if you ever feel the need to break away from this big glorified fence, and visit your kin, I'm sure the King would welcome you with open arms."

"Aye, I'm sure he would," Jon said with little truth in his own words. _Robb isn't the same anymore. He wouldn't see a brother, rather, he would see a potential claimant to his seat in Winterfell. Or maybe I'm misreading how badly his head has been blackened._

"If you ever do, I'd be glad to see you at least, and I'm the whole lot of my siblings would like to make your aquantance. I don't believe you've ever had the pleasure to meet little William. Catelyn says he's like Rickon when he was a boy … which scares her, considering Rickon is like the Greatjon now."

And with the mention of _her _name, any potential desire to come south to Winterfell faded away. Jon hadn't spoken with his father's widow, since he had left for the Watch actually. He made sure to avoid her for the brief and few times he was in the capital. _Maybe she has changed … Seven hells, maybe she doesn't even remember me anymore, that'd be a treat. I'll have to think on it before coming south though. The last thing I'd need is her telling Robb of any fell deeds I could preform whilst being alive, and then … I fear I wouldn't be alive any longer. Perhaps she's already whispered to my brother, cursing me a thousand times until Robb had already decided my head would be taken should I show up again._

"If you can't come I'll understand. I see you've got your hands filled here as it is. I mean, really filled … damn, those are big," Beron said with a sigh and quiet whistle.

Jon turned to see what was _big _and noticed Beron's eyes were on Daenerys, most likely her breasts in particular. Jon turned back to see a joking smile on his nephew's face. _God's I wish he hadn't found out about us … although he did bring the matter of how terribly we hide it to my attention._

"I'll definitely think about it, Beron," Jon said, postponing any answer, and rolling his eyes at the jest of Dany's breasts.

"Very well, oh … and if you do, make sure _she_ stays here," he said, pointing to Daenerys. "I believe Robb would think it a new victory to have the last of the Targaryens beheaded publicly … or worse."

"He spared her life after The War of the Five Kings, why should he kill her now?" Jon asked.

"It is as I have said, he isn't the same as he once was. He no longer cares for the well-being of the family, or the affairs of the country. Now, it's all about the prestige of our family name, and of how much money he can fit in Winterfell."

"I understand," Jon gave a slow nod, once again thinking on how badly Robb has been tainted, and wondering what had done it to him. Maybe it was the infidelity of his wife, or maybe his crown was starting to burrow into his head, and make him more King than beloved brother and caring father. "Goodbye, Beron," Jon said finally to Beron as he pranced off on his horse with his men lining up behind him.

"Goodbye, Jon! I hope to see you again in Winterfell. The god's know I enjoy your company more than that of the whores in Winterfell, that is, unless I can find a pretty one for once! Ha ha ha!" He cheered and bellowed his laughter as he rode away, hundreds of hooves kicking up dust and snow as they made for the capital.

Jon's mind slowed for a second, as did the snow fall around him as he thought. He wondered if there was a connection between Robb's changing attitude, and the assassin that was sent to kill Jon or Beron … or both of them. _Could someone be trying to kill Robb and his heirs, like Beron, and taking me out for good measure? Or was it Robb that sent the assassin, and the food was only meant for my gullet? Is he trying to kill me, or is there some other evil force at work here? Either way, I should look into this, and be on alert at all times._

"I didn't know he was the type of man to lay with whores," Dany said, startling Jon.

"Oh, yes, neither did I," Jon let out slowly, recollecting himself, after thinking Dany was another assassin.

"Was your brother ever like that? Laying with whores as if it was a joke or a game?" She asked, watching the Northmen from a distance as they became smaller and smaller to their eyes.

"I don't believe so. Not with whores at least. I mean, he might have laid with a farmer's daughter or two for all I know. I do believe he lost his virtue before his marriage to Margaery, as Margaery most likely did as well, but I can't say for sure," Jon gave an abysmal answer, still pondering his brother's sickness and what it might mean.

"I hear Margaery_ loses it—_as you put it—with a lot of men now," Dany jested, a smug smile on her face for her own joke, waiting for a laugh from her lover, but none came. "What's wrong?"

"After twenty years of marriage, through thick and thin, seven children, and being named a queen of seven kingdoms, why would she want to be with any other man in the world?" Jon asked aloud, thinking on the answer himself, though he could only come to one conclusion.

"Well, most women do it just because they're not satisfied with their partner, others do it to relieve some stress with another partner," she answered after giving it some thought. "As do some men."

"And what about you?" he asked without turning his head, still staring off into the south.

"Me? I'm not like most women, Jon. I love you and only you, for as long as we live. And I don't need a few stupid words and it written in paper to let me know that we are one now, as close as we can be without being married," she said, intertwining her finger's of her right hand with his left.

Jon pried his hand from her's, making sharp turns of his neck for other members of the Watch. No one seemed to notice or care for that matter.

Dany looked shocked and offended, taking a step back from her lover.

"For the brief time I was ever in Winterfell when Margaery was there with Robb, I noticed they were always with each other, laughing, kissing, never apart from one another, and only a few years after that, she is accused of laying with another man? I don't buy it. It must be a lie, and something is going on in Winterfell. Something that I plan on unveiling.

Jon kicked off from his tracks in the deep snow, trudging away to Castle Black, and passing through the gates, not bothering to wait for Dany. _If there are traitors in The North, waiting for a moment of weakness in the Stark house, then I can't be with Dany for a while, not while there is a chance of assassin's discovering our affairs, and going after her as well as me. Not to mention that the brother's are starting to see what we are, what we have been for years, and groan at the mention of our names. This is for the best of us both._

"Jon," Dany called out in an elevated voice.

"Get back to your post, Targaryen," Jon replied to her, using her house name for the first time in years. It hurt them both, but it had to be done, for the safety of the realm. Jon always looked out for the kingdoms, first as a brother of the Night's Watch, and now he understood his private life with Dany must be hidden to protect the kingdom as well.

* * *

><p><strong>Margaery<strong>

The ex-queen and her companions had taken themselves upon The Ring, the seat of house Roxton, a house whose leader had been most gracious to Mace and all of his children. Luckily, and after much debate and argument between Rickon and Margaery, they decided to ask the lord of The Ring to stay in his estate for the night, and rest up before they continued their journey north. Thankfully, Lord Michal agreed to letting Margaery and her companions stay the night, and confirmed that he would not tell Willas' son, the new lord of the Reach, that they were there.

However, the Lord of The Ring would not let them stay where others could see them, and report back to Garrett of Lord Michal's transgressions. Instead, he allowed them a hiding spot, in the cellar of his castle, where only his most trusted servants and guards would be posted to ward off any wanderers and keep the attendants inside their temporary home.

Margaery sat on a creaking wooden bench. Two slats of dark old wood was the seat, and two crates placed at either end of the wood was the feet of the bench. Rickon made his place by a parting in two pieces of timber, where he could see the front of the small castle and gate, watching carefully, oft times sniffing the air outside for any enemy. Brandon Cerwyn was happy to sleep for once, instead of get caught up in the guard duty, since he fervently believed himself safe, he slept on a bushy patch of dried grass. And then there was Donnel Ryswell, who made himself at home next to Margaery on the other end of the bench, taking awkward glances around the small dark room, then longer and carefully hidden glances at Margaery herself.

Donnel's meaningless flirting—or so Margaery thought it was meaningless—had quickly turned into an undying lust for Margaery. He could never stop looking at her, and only talked when he was close to her. Whatever possessed him to believe Margaery was interested was mostly Margaery's fault, and she knew that. Any time he peaked at her, scanning her body from afar or next to her, she never warded him off or made any show of discomfort, but that was just how Margaery was. She wasn't the type of person to berate someone for looking at her, since people have been doing it over twenty years ago. Rather she used to try and use it to her advantage, to manipulate people into doing something she wanted.

She used to do it to Donnel, asking him to fetch her water from a river while they were on the road to and from Winterfell, but she had mostly assumed he was doing so because she was the queen, or rather used to be, and had some shred of loyalty for the royalty of Westeros, but instead it was because he had wanted her all along.

Rickon had noticed the glances as well, but hadn't told Donnel to stop yet, and Margaery wondered why. _Does he not care if I was to have an affair with this man? Where does his loyalty truly lie, with me or Robb? Could Robb have asked him to follow me to Highgarden just to kill my babe when it arrives? No, he wouldn't do that … he loves me like a sister … but then again, I've never seen him ignore an order from Robb, not once. I can't trust anyone anymore, and I know that now._

Again, for the fifth time in the past ten minutes she caught him looking, peaking down her dress with squinting eyes, and quickly position them forward again. She gave a restless sigh, inhaling slowly and exhaling slower. She stood from the bench and waddled over to the crack in the boards where Rickon was posted, feeling the eyes of Donnel on her back. _Gods, he is relentless. Did he not understand what that sigh meant? Can he seriously not tell that I'm not interested? What an idiot._

She had been trying to escape Donnel's side the entire stay in the cellar. At first she put herself atop a crate with hay to cushion her, but Donnel had slowly wandered to a crate beside it, and kicked his feat up next to her, staring and blinking his eyes out of order, as if he were growing intoxicated off of her looks and body. Then she claimed that the crate was uncomfortable for her and her unborn babe, so she moved to stand by a wooden post, where again, Donnel had followed her and stood next to her. She had then thought after three times that he would get the hint, that he would stay where he was when she said she needed to sit down and went to the bench, but again, he followed her. The only place where he left her alone was when she was by Rickon.

When she arrived by his side, he gave a resentful look, staring down at her for a moment from his height with a look of absolute disdain and regret.

"Excuse me?" Margaery asked in offense, narrowing her eyes at him, though he didn't care, he just looked back outside the slit in the wall. "What's your problem?"

"My problem?" He asked, a light chuckle mixing in with the words. He said in a whisper for Margaery's ears only, "My_ problem _is that we're in the home of a man we hardly know, when we're being hunted down by your own relatives, in an attempt to escape from a murder we were framed for, which could lead us to being found and executed which will no doubt ignite a war between Robb and the Reach, with others picking sides, and all you can do is make nice and flirt with a man who's not even supposed to have carnal affairs with anyone while another sleeps everything off and all of you think I'm paranoid for wanting to be safe. Pah,"

"Wait a minute," Margaery started in a whisper, "flirt with? Have you not seen my fruitless efforts to escape that idiot for the past few hours? He's drooling over me like Greywind for chicken and all you care about is if there's someone outside? You're supposed to be keeping your queen safe, not looking out for your self."

"Listen," Rickon said for everyone to hear, seemingly on accident as he lowered his voice and looked around nervously. "I'm just trying to get us out of The Reach with our heads still attached to our bodies." Margaery looked to Rickon's changing eyes, she saw his pupils enlarge to fill most of his eyeball, with only a thin ring of blue around the black centers which were given light by the crack in the wood. Slowly they reverted to the normal size, or maybe Margaery was seeing things, and they had never changed at all. "Is that alright with you?" he asked, not waiting for an answer, he turned his head back to look outside.

_I suppose he's right, and I am at fault for leading that idiot along, as if I would ever lay with him, and betray Robb. He's Robb's own personal guard, and he's trying to sleep with his wife … I feel there might be something more to this than just sleeping with me … maybe he wants to hurt Robb by doing it, or maybe he's just a lustful idiot. I do remember the times when I thought Robb might lay with women besides me, like when that older woman with the blood-red hair gave him that necklace that he always wore, and still wears to this day … could he? No … if he was with her then why would he care if I laid with other men? No, he just thought it was pretty is all … although, she was pretty as well. Never mind, there's more important things at hand than that red-headed bitch._

A whine came from a dark part of the cellar, where two glowing eyes were low and humbled. "Shaggydog doesn't like it when you guys fight, he just told you so, didn't you hear him?" Brandon Cerwyn asked, awake from his slumber but still laying down on the grass, and smiling at the pair of bickering persons.

"That's not what he said," Rickon argued, glancing at his direwolf that he had retrieved from the stables when they had fled Highgarden some time ago.

"How would you know? You speak wolf?" Donnel asked, smug and resentful in tone.

"I've been with him my entire life, I'm pretty sure I know how to communicate with him," Rickon retorted, looking to and smiling at the wolf which blended with the shadow.

"Whatever," Donnel muttered.

Margaery looked back to the two Northmen, both of which gave her nods and smiles, Brandon's being more friendly, while Donnel's was more suggestive, and supportive. _Does he think he's standing up for me by insulting Rickon? Is it because Rickon was arguing with me? What an idiot, can't he just leave me alone?_

"I think we should leave soon," Rickon said, breaking a small silence.

"Why, what's wrong?" Brandon asked, standing at attention and rushing over to the slit in the wooden wall, pushing for a view outside. "Who's there?"

"No one, but I smell trouble coming," was Rickon's discreditable response.

"Did you remember to take Shaggydog out to do his business? That's probably what you're smelling," Brandon said in jest, and Shaggydog replied with another whining sound.

"You just have to trust me, Brandon," Rickon said, looking Brandon straight in the eyes for a time, until Brandon's face snapped to seriousness, and he dropped his joking facade.

"Oh, I understand. I think we should leave, if Rickon wants us to go then we should. It's for the best," Brandon replied, both of them looked to Margaery and Donnel for input.

"We're going to leave after only a few hours rest because you have a hunch that something bad is going to happen?" Donnel asked and gave an insulting laugh. "Are you touched?"

A snarling growl came from the dark corner, and Shaggydog's lowered eyes were now raised almost as tall as a horses, staring to Donnel and growling without end.

"Down, Shaggydog," Rickon commanded, and his wolf obeyed, slowly lowering itself back to the floor but keeping his eyes on Donnel, who scooted further back in his seat and gave a nervous whimper. "We can't fight amongst ourselves, not at this moment. Margaery, just trust me, okay … I know what I'm doing."

Margaery thought hard on it, but only for a minute, and came to an unsure decision. "If you think it's best, then I agree."

"Me too," Donnel said just after Margaery decided. _You stupid lapdog. _Margaery thought, shaking her head and looking to the ground in annoyance. _Can't you just disappear and never bother us again you idiot?_

"Ha," Brandon chuckled, shaking his head at Donnel, "Last one into the battle and the first off the field, huh Donnel?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, standing from the bench, but was lowered right after by the growl of Shaggydog.

"Ha!" Brandon let out an even louder laugh, and received a hit on the arm from his lord-commander. "Ah, what?"

"We're too late." Rickon said in a whisper, shoulder's slouched and back hunched in defeat.

Brandon pushed his way to get his eyes by a part of the crack in the wall, and saw a group of soldiers outside, waiting on horseback with their captain talking to Lord Roxton. "We can take 'em," Brandon said in positivity.

"What's the point, there must be two dozen horsemen, even if we do, Lord Roxton will sick his dogs on us after. Are you prepared to fight off an entire castle worth of Reachmen?" Rickon asked to everyone around, though no one answered.

"We can't just give up," Margaery said after a moment of depressing silence.

"They'll hang us anyway for what they think we did to Willas … might as well as just try," Brandon said reassuringly. "If not, then let me hold them off while you all make it to the stables, grab our horses and flee to safety."

Rickon looked to his fellow Wolf Pack member, scanning him from shinning steel plated boots, to the fur around the collar of his breastplate. They embraced in a hug, Rickon squeezing his friend tight, a crinkling sound came from their armor, and Rickon had nearly dented their chest plates with the sheer force of the hug. "I've never been more proud of you before Brandon, but it is I who will hold these bastards off."

Shaggydog made a moaning sound from his corner and came pawing his way to his owner, and nuzzled up against his legs.

Margaery walked to where Rickon and Brandon embraced, and looked through the crack as the others debated who would have the honor of making a martyr or themselves.

"Why don't we all fight, because I really don't see any way Margaery can make it out if just one of us is fighting," Donnel said, catching the eyes of the other two men and direwolf.

"That's the first sensible thing I think I've heard you say, Donnel," Brandon agreed.

"I don't think there's going to be any dying for the cause today here boys," Margaery called out to them, looking through the crack in the wood, seeing the party of Reachmen turn on their horses and ride away and out of view. "It seems I was right to trust Lord Roxton after all. I knew he wouldn't sell us out." Margaery crossed her arms over one another, and smiled to her team of blubbering guards.

"Oh … this is a little awkward then. Uh …," Rickon noted, stepping away from Brandon who turned his head to examine a post intensely.

"Brandon?" Margaery called, "are you crying?"

"What! Of course not, I … I … Well I thought we were all about to go out fighting and this would be the last time we'd all be together, so …."

"Really awkward," Donnel noted.

"Anyway, I suppose it's best we actually leave now before another group comes back and actually decides to search the castle," Rickon said, ready to move with just the armor on his back.

"I agree, lets bid Lord Roxton goodbye and thank him for his hospitality," Margaery suggested, walking to the door and opening it for all to leave with her after the near-death debacle.

They said their goodbyes to the gracious lord that kept them, and left the dark, dust filled shack they were lucky enough to rest in, and made once again for the road to Winterfell.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sorry this took like over a month to do, but I was on an unofficial break, but I'm back now and can start writing on a semi-regular basis again, hope you are still reading and liking these. I'll give a little backstory next chapter, which should clear things up as to why Robb is what he is, so pay attention for that, and for clues as for what's to come.**


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